No home maker, nest gatherer, sand sitter
turbo-charged palindromic I eat as I hunt | hunt as I eat
now I am shell-grit, now kelp, now fiery sea-devil. Continue reading
time
still Sunday morning
waking with the self (still)
an unanswered alarm raucous
Continue reading
What I know about time (3) – haibun
I’m telling her the story. ‘There’s a scene in Inland Empire where Lorna Dern —’
‘It’s Laura,’ she says.
‘What?’
Sunday afternoon, Hill 60 Port Kembla (34.49°S, 150.91°E)
apple juice box. Summer will fade the dyes
on the plump blush and golden circle. And (eventually)
the single-use plastic straw will glaze and crack
back into long-chain polymers and molecular dust.
Peter Frankis writes 