The Field

The men stare,

dark eyes,

work-thin faces,

leather aprons

bright with wear;

focus on a camera

to mark this day,

when the heat rose

early and hard

so that the dust

sat in the light

and filled the throat,

here in a wide field,

grain cut at its feet.

The apron holds that day

sixty years on.

It is in its fibre.

Work and memory.

Locked in hide.

No smiles here:

bob a day and found –

grain and heat and sweat;

A week in a field.

The rattle of slats,

bugger the flies,

muck in your eye.

The old man’s here,

thin as a stick.

sandy rooms

1

the shower
in the
sandy public changing
room

is too
cold now
to stand wholly
under

so I stand
back from the
shower head and
deflect water
off the open palms

and dart
in and out of the
white burn

ball-sacks, bum hole
between toes,
horse firm
the burn! the brilliant

cold draws
out the heat!

and then
with pale, rose-like
bunches of toilet
paper, I pat-dry

and the calm coldness
of the real
in a presence of humming
agitated skin

is a beautiful
thorough
sensation
of transition
through permanence.

2

we are—
and I
start from there:

solid
only as a book is
really here,

unread, unopened,
our content undivulged,

content
the form you are
projecting

the cover
to the undiscovered
the keeper

of the notes you
do not sing while

singing f#
toning aum
a fluctuating B;

thinking thus
and feeling so
are wood-chips
of a thought

from what is Tree.

3

plumbed
water, winter
a month off;
the facility

juts out
on poles
3/4 on beach sand
and the piles

transmit
the swell
and boom
of wave crash

I am tight over
the bones
shrunken penis
is activated

in a soapy hold
that will
power the tower
of my form

I cannot hold
you or be held
beyond the point,
that is

not the purpose
of you, I am
held touched
remotely, for warmth

and the sensation the
procreative urge
it has charged

my thighs and mind
and pegging
washed
socks to the outside

of the backpack
I enter the sandy
harbour below

landing aircraft howling
governed portions
of their power across
the mustard and teal

coloured wave roll
of the capital ocean,
and the one surfer

in full rubber
crouched low. It is an ecstasy
relevant to the peace
of nations.