Nathan
Hondros
| Birdsong your after hours brow and blonde bones in the under-reach, and singing birds for dead man’s memory. cemetery birdsong tumbles down, balanced by ghost gums, grass, feathers and stone. we lay there all night, infinitely unwound, in the mouths of gulls, over the spools of each other’s thighs. Poem Without Sleep or Reason this sempiternal sub-light is slipshod in hollow dark, it confuses us with all the world's distance, with the diurnal clothes the other must always wear. then winter comes over fences, through windows, across harboured night and day and the earth's kilometres. until we reach each other (both the colour of fruit trees and grass, both candescent and profane, both enduring through this 3am. Sans Sommeil Colossus. trickery and mirrors behind his ploughing eyes, his height a sleight of hand. his voice is a screw’s thread of listless penetration, and forbearance, and solitude. in stony hour glass night I find a foothold and grow tall, I find antiquity in the lemon light of five AM. my voice is a vague pretence, now from the mouth of the colossus. and you, nocturnal one - how many nights called out to you, how many? >>>Sheila E.
Murphy
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