By | 1 February 2014

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]

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