Oh you lose so beautifully she said and threw me down on the
slope. The lawn took my back with a sting and she fell into my
mouth and roamed the sky just then the sun bucketing down
tickling each other with open palms. The tennis was over and her
skirt with the fanned folds hovered with the breeze anyway. The
cotton wrestling away from us like vanilla milkshakes balancing in
our hands and we tasted like we might. And for quite a long time.
Nearly minutes and the bold big sun the rise of pink now pattern-
ing her back and her neck and my back against the blade-grass we
notice the lips keep on and the rain begins all over again Julie
Julie gee this lasts a while and we're happy about that. Seven-
teen birds somewhere in the trees and a line call sour beyond the
oak and the car by the court (two). Tennis. Again. She says and we
fiddle the lawn and all in all we kiss and touch racquets and that's
A. MALLEY collects tennis chalk and zipless pencils. He reads his poems.
As reported on Cordite News Explosion, we're moved and astonished to admit that we didn't pick Luke Beesley as the author of this “so-called” “poem”.