In the dead of night in the dead of time
the private creatures nibbled, milky under moonlight.
Not a pine needle dropped. A salmon pulse throbbed muted
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Sugar Lee you are the sun today,
Pervasive light and heat, and I
The valley floor, the birch pine slopes,
The snow-capped peaks, transparent sk
...
There is more blue up here. This is good. There is
more light careening in the air. The haloes are in form.
Light floods the cerebral cortex all day long; the
toughest wildest physicists acknowledge this, agree with
...
Helluva day the day I fought
the lion to the death
when the women found me
prone across its flanks
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Church of St Etienne du Mont, Paris
Because that force through green fuse drives all flowers
(which we would call the greater force, or God, or minor gods)
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Reverence. How the afternoon
comes down on you like that.
In a microsleep you can travel
hundreds of metres — into trees
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The sky broods like the whole of Sydney’s
done something wrong and it can’t quite put its finger
on it. Christmas stretches into New Year and
Sydneysiders wear the vacant stare of the slightly
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She stays asleep: tonight her soul huff–puffs;
for pain is forthcoming, she knows it and waves the white flag
(as if giving up the world’s finest imported sweet stuffs
...
am floating or falling. I am light
as a feather, or even my thumbprint
fills the sky. The water near shore
...