In a balloon of disconnection
I watched a leaf tumble, untethered but somehow strung
and wondered if it was me.


I sit down all day
on the comfy chair that,
unable to to to a door to fro from a wall,
doesn’t rock.
The one house four homes opposite
is closed.
The tree with the long nose
and the pubic hedge that shelters
are waiting for the breeze to

Her shoulders lead the way
her kiteface looks on
from above
and behind
by her neck.
Sparrows pivot their faces
up-left downright
as mixed seeds
somersault from her shoulders unfolding their roots
and sprouting spreading
in heel-heavy footprints branches erupt then stagnate
cradling her lofty head.

When he first moved in
the windows rolled him over
the cushions made eye contact
his eyebrows kept reaching for each other
and other men’s teeth were too loud.
Mornings and I
would find him under the bed
next to the dirty laundry.
By the time he moved out
shiny teeth still made him cough
though he had changed his mind about hats
and cushions.
I wonder now
if the teeth ever quite piped down.

My hair sounds like
suitcases being weighed at the airport
as it drops from your open hand.
I never understood gambling.

It keeps
raining and I keep
trying not to step
on worms
whose headtails
have purpled and filled
idling on wet concrete.

Lifting each foot one at a time
replacing them, flat,
hyperextending his knees
he drums his fingers on
a city steel bin
with fast food scars
a face squeezed in recognition
he smells like green tea.

There’s a spin cycle in my ear
a miniature windmill singing.
An overwhelming breeze.

The jacarandas and the flames
all bulging eyes and fictional colour
are pulling cloud apples
and watching them roll down
the basket handle.

Purveyors of derive
in a bidimensional sphere.
The sky is growing.

Toes germinate, sprout,
and scale gorges
as old as
recurring dreams
of telepathic crocodiles.

Sun lengthens voices
a breath-taking monotone
keeps cadence in a jar
and feeds it green leaves.

If they are slow enough

if their transparent lines

hesitate, lacking the

grace to dodge the heavy

saturated threads

or if, absorbed in their

dynamic still,

they are plucked and propelled,

they will slow and slip

and bud

on the sphere of her back.

Her home strings

are anchored to hard air

and they trampoline sideways.