deep in richmond

By | 1 April 2010

deep in Richmond among the rank

Peugeots, les ateliers bijoux, and the wastrel

Green sky, i smoke with my


on the verandah of a dripping portugeuse colonial

villa Swan st. Blue toucan neon, you are as gay as

the day Was spent hungover in bed on a down-

stream blow-up phantasm of harvesting lilypads &

unspent German shells in a pond of merrie ongelonde

from a travel brochure with a stubborn hardon

Blazer rich with your own smell, camembert

spoiling in the glare and the curlicue knife's gentle

suggestions of a stabbing frenzy, because the one

You want is the one who hasn't the least heat for you

Your brown haird secretary from Braunschweig who

Plays with everything at the table and looks infinitely

Away it's pouring in the alcove you can just make out

The dead and bemused Rimbaud

Loitering in the darkened joists that hold aloft

The haunted MCG,

& the auroreal sophistry

Of the frick-headed magpie, who teases you for being

Not the last one left alive.

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