from Sandy Rooms #3


I was woken on the book-wide bench
in the less-used changing rooms
nearby the zoo
by the light of a recording instrument
three teenage boys and a girl
I knew
the scenario safe and stayed
still pretending
to be asleep
so they could film
and µpload I hoped for proof
of the artist’s backstory the
bearded hobo
with his head on some anthology
I lay waiting as their snuffled
giggles quietened then moved
suddenly tiger swift roared
hands concocting volcano
as the blanket leapt up to
flutter featherful to the sandy
floor and my laughter was
not captured
because their screams
above the phone
muffled my mirth.


I think the story
slows in winter
the Light taking Time
aside comparing…
It is late Autumn
and the city wintering
early is in gloves
with the tips cut off a
half centimetre
the cold and hard
brightness of White
in winter black lines
black edge black bright
white centre…
I’ve found a quality
scarf an Icebreaker
merino in the sanitation
bin of the paraplegic
toilet I’m guessing
it was spoiled on or slid
off the shoulders of the last
owner like a snake
from a tree into
the water I have washed
it blow-dried it
and the faint perfume
from the previous
wearer is changing
my bearing
in ‘mine’.


I’m in love with my health
the happiness
of nowhere else to be
my flat stomach
in cold shower
and the freedom
nowhere aching
bright ceramic tiles
shine on stainless
clothing hangers
in love with who they
think they filmed
and all day breathing
compiling a list
of the World’s woes
where what is wrong
is offered in repose
and calm Lego building
in a toddler’s daycare
you’ve wondered
why under
City winter skies
I research the menstrual
of a private
public toilet
to the finding of
the item
now around my neck?

very well

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