Broome Beach Art

By | 30 June 2008

we sit by the o
cean paddocks sipping moisture
from salty scars this is the blee
ding the in
terminable drift sourcewards by opening
the wet eye we
can leave the bushy one c
losed losen up read
currents swells sand
bank accumulation with
confidence we turn back: an
cestral hints we're striding
inwards in
to the pasteofwhatwilldry to silt
ochre dust in your nails
scratching frying up the hurt the ants
swarm with shadows
attached the twine
of a thriving mosaic weaving
of one another that
empty Sky:______
we sit and sing the drought
songless is the art this is
the art of a lost child (lost child)
trying hard to grow a new
mother like (new mother)
wanting kisses on your cheek (your cheek)
from lips too
to pucker. (pucker)

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