A vacant road,
A conveyor belt
On a vacant landscape
Rotating beneath the…
Tag: bush poetry
The arborist’s first grandchild (one in, one out)
Small shite it grows in the light a forest of green in a bucket of skyfe twisting onward and upward… Read more The arborist’s first grandchild (one in, one out)
Fences
Stitches seep across burnt skinwounds that weep ounce sewing pinssinew shapes turn sutured tracksalong yellow shoulders, down purple back Green… Read more Fences
Cleaver
Split toes crumbling, crack, as the body rots appendages are the first to go Lepered flowers snap, under bruised leather… Read more Cleaver
Slugs are allergic
It croaks as it’s dying, body sunken, when it wriggles, it jiggles, and rolls its side in upon itself like… Read more Slugs are allergic
Tighearnan John Kelly 