And a friendly reminder, as of April 2017, my first collection – BONE INK – is available here. This is one of the poems that didn’t make it into the collection.
Don’t speak of petrichor
At Leura Bakery the radio plays my murder ballad,
Jive Bunny – Tutti Frutti, C’mon Everybody.
The street outside is laden with tacky air
my ears frizzle
electric with the static between
cacoethes and imminent lightning. The boy
lifting sausage rolls is a picture
skin like vanilla slice, pear
and rhubarb loaf at his fingers.
Rock around the Clock, Wake up
Little Susie. He’s dancing an ancient
jive across the thoughts I’ve willed my life into.
Still life on the wall,
Lithgow Springs water.
I’m wearing Tevas
and slipping off my stool to speak to him.
I mention the Swinging Bridge,
a girl with horse flesh perfume,
a case of UDLs under the deserted house.
It’s enough to turn his head.
ANOTHER ODDITY FROM 2015. STILL CLEARING OUT THE STRANGE, OLD STUFF.