stained to the sea
of papertrain throughfares
and thoughts of a felling conscious
we drank a cold keirin, and
bit back the slow buzz of summer’s night
tune into radio.i96.4G a backburn mirage of cicada’s, citronella, cackles of cockatoos striking the
first dark lights
before the dishes were done,
before the spat of olive oil,
or mel’s laundry was wrung,
we married the simple straight limbs of chopsticks
kimchi ferments
and oolong tea,
quiet in the corner, as the orange bloom
peeled behind Mt keira
and tuned into the night
do you hear the crackle of their speech?
behind powerlines and swatches of roofs
tangled in the underblanket
of Wollongong suburbia
people, just like bats,
becalmed to the blue
