I have a hum, in my neck – it has yet to reveal itself in wordness form. This moment inbetween sounds it…….

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It’s just as yesterday was, walking through the grass. To the well, you forget who was looking- washing the many colours of the tail- a slickly feathered freak. Rubbing the obsidian worrystone, to the drover’s daughter’s who disapeared into the hills years ago. You’ve forgotten her face -Pleasure bloating the supercritical stream, or a culmination of stone stick and mud. Your brother made a bust of her – also long gone, him. The aeloncholic temperament.

His funerary mound- a rag soaked in cruel combustibles. Odourless, tasteless, aquatic dissolution. who gushes. The benzene friend. Torn and wound in gauze soaked imperial dye; royal blow. The long fatal heir/air dusting the flies green again. Sealed in cavernous leaves and bites in the sun.

The ground of burning glass. Now I look forward and sideways upon my line – confronted by a crooked smirk, poorly cut red hair – gangly young and twirling an unrecognizable contraption. Stones revived and avenged for oblivion.