after Rimbaud

The first dawn of June

was   a   dark   aquarium   belligerent

submarines    hurled    themselves

at     my    chest.    The    National    Security

Agency   had   trumpeted   my   grave

and      branded      my      ass      with      an      ardency

we     couldn’t     run     off     in     the     fields.

Fur       turned       silver      with        grief      below       a

canopy       of       purple       gums       I       played

games       on      my      dated      console,     staring    in

 at    the   misters     staring     out,     a     large

bear     with     crystal     eyes.     Later       at     the

bottom    of    day    I    found    malady,

grey    bird   clinging   to   the   wheel   of

a  Holden,  wings  dragging   out

like  eventide   shadows   I   get  so

bristly   down  under.