Sand Down the Western Highway

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The words I’ve been reading
Sand I’ve been treading
Pasted on my ankles and hands

And what I talk about
When I talk about now

Your long hair
Tied back in the days I’m gone

I hope the same song
the same lilting chords
Are stuck in your head too

As you watch trams, rain, money
I’m seeing you
and the wide open sea

My favourite backdrop

Night Folds

only the sticky night tonight
waits for someone up before dawn
straining eyes
she pours milk in the dark
the stars blink above
so she looks with open palms
now that the glass has been finished
the piano lies dormant
deep, deep in the black
inside her bedroom
her hands fold
over a perfect leaf

The Third Tuesday



finishing the book
blank pages, an afterthought
silent appreciation over space
she smiled on the other side of the world
he smirked, remembering
a dirty moment with her on him

alone but for the squares on her wrist
reminder of human compassion (love)
forgetting about time,
when spider eats ant
they watch, as fascinated children
sipping fizzy water and drifting

chlorinated casualties
sun and shoulders, beaming down
textures and tones
a bicycle in the heat
riding the street past fatigue

morning gone, evening settled
selling melted malteasers
then laughing with another
it was a simple day,
sharing the green waves
ending up on a jetty
and the same cigarettes with which they began