#37 Poetry

Macquarie could learn a thing or two / about stranger-fearing, this theft of breath / at times we most ache to be loud, / this blood-thick ghost we choke on / until the knocking subsides.

It’s not a men’s club, / women’s club, sports club, / masonic club, exclusive club, / nightclub, swingers club / or workers club / it’s just a member’s club / because without them / it would only ever be / an architectural delight /

Lithe little worm makes / his dirt routes / blind and / singing.

And every time somebody dies in Gaza / it starts to bleed a little more / so as you can imagine I can’t / keep a shirt clean.

i drew the lovers on a couch, set dining table running / blunt talons past your holy neck it gathers layers falling