Caesura

1 February 2016

My heart, it started ● drives my breath still
sun ends begins
snow-laced mountains edge tomorrow
threadruns through veins ● the cotton or wool of my clothes
and shades of leaves in change

my father’s friends, mother, family have been-gone
knit purl knit purl ● the currawong warbles into the sky
drops, from branch to branch

like the rain that falls from leaf to leaf
It is 1984 forever ● month after year after week fold ● into a caesura

disturb the dusk ● silence the day ● soft like a wolf’s tread ● high the flag flies
is it the cloud that moves ● as wet glistening wires

tram lines
Victorian chimneys grey-net branches
Here, in this room
the Infant of Prague
will swell real tears
Instead, forge playful ● skip on wet-stone ● heaven has retracted its edict ● and heathens
thrive limn this morning frost ● St Kilda road is a stepped skyline ● glyphs along
the margins of the streets ●
The city anaesthetised ● a torn Mobius strip

This entry was posted in 53.0: THE END and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related Posts:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.

Please read Cordite's comments policy before joining the discussion.