You called me from somewhere in the desert for 88 nights/When I was living somewhere by the sea
Was it the siren song of an Ice Queen aboard their vessel that caused the sailors to turn off the echo sounder’s low water depth alarm?
An old song. A new poem. A timeless tale.
Brushtail possums raiding rubbish bins in the Fitzroy Gardens looked up as we passed, singing into the dark at the top of our voices.
sixteen red roses—/the first time we say/three short words
A scratched disc in a glove box/ the records she took when she left.
I heard someone yell over the waves crashing to call 9-1-1, and several beach goers came to help and scooped mud.
Northbound on the turnpike/across vague acres/at evening's beginning.
The centre of our social universe was Dingley. Two of the more socially sophisticated girls had cool parents who let them throw parties and for this particular party I dressed carefully.
“It’s love sickness, sir.” I wanted to respond. “A bad case.”