these are the evenings that strafe the sky
these are asymmetric evenings:
who, on the grass can feel the lopsidedness?
in the shallows near an abandoned leather jacket
where Jarrah wanted to set cobbler lines
before lightning and casuarina split wet and dry.
this is a path I’ve walked before
yet Some Trees have their roots snapped
the canopy is eye level, the leaves hand picked
in the hollow people throw yellow dog shit bags
shell grit and yellow fill and rocky revival
beautiful people are inside the fence
i want to join them. i want to be part
of their antics, but I can’t, I can’t …
bring myself out of this river, this drowning
where the L-pill looks like a golden parachute
sooner or later i’ll slip and fall in; be with someone
who, when alone, thinks about killing himself
that’s what i have to offer, that’s what i am
this is the river i wanted to show you.
Novel 