Dead weathered dog
mingles with wattled floorboards
of grey sun, milk urns
and the rusted fear of water spiders.
The land has always been this way for me.
Walk in the corrugated snake grass and you just
might find your destiny
unless you're lucky enough
and avoid it.
Burning kittensong fills me with the choking tendencies
of sawdust and lips stitched shut. In a distant place
relatives fill my cavities with the finest fruits and
adoringly cry go and sleep go and sleep Okanko go and sleep.
Smoke clears and I walk on, city soft mind your toes
take your rubbish with you.
Carrion pick at the ants and juice carcass of
chewed-out arse and softest eyes. This is its way. It will find you.
Stumble, if you like.
If the forest of her hair
Calls you to explore the land,
And her breasts, those mountains fair,
Tempt that mountaineer, your hand -
Stop! Before it is too late:
Love, the brigand, lies in wait.
through the keyhole romeo
mafia seductress & god he looks hot in those italian
suits new york cop playing both
forsaken fell in love
with a hole
in the ground
white whispers & you're rubbing against
grinding back &
cottontails sweating the
light something jumping
the magnolia of
your skin new
religion in my
mouth hiding the curved form
of your breasts doppelganger watches from
the corner ensanguined spiders
search the doorway
fan & the heat of your cunt gets me that much
closer frame by frame & somewhere the
hair & sheets walks
he streets the
sweet shine of eyes counting in tens dreaming
peacocks a hanging garden hungry for sun
rocket ships & mountains singing 'kiss me on,
kiss me on the lips.'
© Paul Hardacre