the reticent comic sprawls

across the numb linoleum considering

a loud tennis career   pow-whoosh-slam

but no one loves me anymore; delphic

teapots leak like hushed puppies   who

believes in loud prophecies these days

mountain tops prefer to sleep like blank

cassettes   would you want to wear high

heels into yodelic canyons   better to consult

a squad of kookaburras with zips on their

beaks ―


[a riff on ‘echo’ from on a clear day by joanne burns]