Rock Bottom

1 December 2013

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.
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