“Hey. I heard about this country we could visit.
Would you go, if it was with me?
Well what if I told you it was a bird country, and everything was made of feathers.
Yeah, ocean and desert colours, soft and sleek and it glimmers like a dream.
Songs? Yeah, it’s full of ‘em. In all resonances and all keys, some of them mimic but most of them are original pieces.
So, would you go with me?
Why?
Oh, I’m just bored I guess, just feeling stale I guess, just feeling like there’s something out there I want to see.
(I don’t say that I want to see it with you).
Oh, you mean, why with you.
Well
When we were in the park the other week you stopped to talk to that guy with a sulphur crested cockatoo on his shoulder and you smiled when it bopped its head when you said its name – Larry, wasn’t it?
And you laughed for the longest time after we invented an adventure history for him and the bird.
That he was a pirate sailing the oceans to gather the gold and jewels to win the hand of his beloved.
The bird sniffed the air and pointed towards islands of treasure and scratched maps onto the deck of the ship.
He was only in Sydney – we saw this by the harbour, didn't we? - Because his ship needed to restock.
It would be one of those old school wooden ones and it’d look real quaint and beautiful next to the metal ferries swooping in and out of Circular Quay, next to the titan cruise ships that take up half the harbour.
Remember that?
(If I thought it would work, I’d sail ships and become a jewel thief for you)
Oh, no, no baggage limit – bring all the poetry you want. They give paper for free on the plane, even.
We can buy seeds at the duty free. No, Not sure about pens. I’m bringing my ink set anyway.
Haha, yeah, I still calligraphy faces for people who’ve lost theirs.
(I could draw a book of you, though you don’t need it)
It’s a week round about trip.
Just us two, and animals that fly to and from our hands.
We can take bicycles and skate around the island and climb the dead volcano where gigantic nests hold eggs in warm rocking slumber.
(Perhaps we can be each other’s volcanoes and warm each other)
Oh, it’s casual, don’t bring your moleskines, just your two dollar notebooks. Weather will be light, so not more than a hundred pages.
So, does this mean you’ll come with me?
though prosaic poetry is not new for me this does seem like a progression, something rebuilt if not new. any thoughts are welcome