In the
milky mangrove the Australian man sat
twiddling'
his thumb, exploring the uninhabitable island in his mind,
homesick
and love starved for basking on ice floes.
His
Finger Cherry quotes Dickinson
'Tis not that Dying
hurts us so-
'Tis Living-hurts us
more
The
linguistics of her hypnotic Angel's Trumpet
oscillating
between poetics and gun fire.
The
tall Tansy Mustard growing tall as sunflowers
shake
and sizzle in the Autumn wind
tapping
against the Victorian window pane of her kitchen
thirsty
for condensation
desperate
to touch where the Waxwing slain himself
and
impetuous.
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