You didn’t answer my question though and Kick Ons11 September 2018
You didn’t answer my question though
|For my sins I live in Melbourne|
|Where love is||For all but|
|grow||Meaning through repetition|
|I keep seeing||your face-painted|
|concern,||when I Spill|
|Did you just pretend not to hear me?|
|Will these failures grow meaning through repetition?|
The best thing about a bucket-hat is you can only look down.
Long timber scrap fire, cooper’s red
amber inclusions. Your speaker dies
five hours in, weak sunrise
melting with your extended rubber sole.
Don’t stamp it. Scrape it. Shape it.
I’m sober. I’m not sober. I wish I was sober.
I don’t know you. I am nothing
if not decorative; the cold excuses
my shaking hands. I can’t roll, and our
smiles haunt the flame, cold to warm and back.