And a friendly reminder, as of April 2017, my first collection – BONE INK – is available for order from Guillotine Press. This is one of the poems that didn’t make it into the collection.
In a decade
We gods of stolen change pine
lewd at mirrors for something we’ve yet to become,
watch petrol prices rise,
don’t care that we live
in a house built with paddle pop sticks.
We gods search
aisles at Bunnings for clues,
ponder the slash of open cut mines,
watch the rail line bend.
We have secrets enough
to fill the time remaining:
creek bed dirt under our fingernails, fathers
dry as cigarette
ash, three unborn kids
in the dark beneath our lover’s eyes.
This is the second instalment of the scraps from 2015. I’ll post others over the next two or three weeks. Most are pieces I have a fondness for but really don’t think will go any further.
Rico Craig 