SUNDAY

The subtle smell of pasta boiling,
These eyes float through glass,
Out onto the orbed Street.

For once, I didn't feel beholden,
or behoved. Within the waxen glimmer,
the drapes embraced me.

The nonsensical smell of maple syrup rose,
from the dumb walls of forgotten shops,
along a street in the inner west.
The city continues to respire,
indifferent breaths.
What's the point,
in tiredly trying?
Periphery.
Is choice.

Sheets of linen, palls of grey
Old bathroom walled
Scrawled dismay

School of halls, rooms of beige
Sheets of linen, palls of grey

Old bathroom walled
Stalls, dismay.

And following the afternoon's events, a pail of renewed perspective tossed across the windshield of the days that came...
Mortality slunk through the scratch of the grass there.


Disturb the pebbled road en route to the stone-
Stony silence
/\
Kick the gutter with a shoe warmed by active blood flows
/\/\ Scoop the child up and throw the foam plane with sizzling aliveness

slide along into a vast yard, calloused by time, read the inscriptions
With a knowing keenness and carefully selected clothes, a mired aliveness
/\/\/\atop the turf or below - a crude slab signifies they once were

Consider the stories stubbed out... this is ashtray soil.
Think of the ones still spinning, as the year crept to its death!
A plume of cries and upthrown paper, variegated.
Row after row of lowly souls, failed fortunes entombed


It's a cloudburst life.

Scintillate me,
Capture me,
Enrapture me

Your Sloughing sunshines trickle and drop
Onto my lap and I wish to catch,
the uncatchable.

Pithy wishes wash down the rocks eroded by time, solidity.
Who shot the sparkles into the day to whet the appetites gnawing at all of us? Especially me,

Tripped up,
thrown overboard
Overthrown

Surging downward, carried and stretchered, on the wary waters of precarious palms,

clammy beast.

Fizzing through the rain and feeling,
slosh and wipers ice-skate the glass,
while soft hands firm their grip on the wheel.
Sputtering love permeates the compact space
...in between droplets, the splintered reflection of:
the one both inward and outward - self-excavating & selfless

A '100% pure and natural' spring water hurls itself,
off the seat and hits the floor,
I reach to retrieve and eyes meet.
The rearviewmirror, now smeared with dust,
Georgia beaming down on Florida - a state-line and a statement

Wisps of theme park hair, dance and taunt the air,
blow out the gaping window.
Two setting sun figures - testing the afternoon,
two watched wrists entwine,
a case to be made for pit stops.

The rural hours poached breaths off me,
Your shadow casts dark forests on my face
More closures than I can bear,

Something rouge has entered my airspace.

I’m harbouring arboreal love,
It stands stately, shared by you
Your kindness need not extend,

As wide as the wings of the Boeing do…