evening lands and the woman on the tram
touches my hand by accident
I’m cutting enormous paths through the
night forest which I tried to make impassable
who complains of
amazement anymore I say in your language
which is sleep & you begin to
close your eyes with almost pleasure
i only feel pleasure when
I hide behind a curtain dragged out by force there
are plenty of seats left & there is a war going on
between the police and the junkies which I
watch every morning after sleeping with the barbarians,
who are everywhere here
& every third evening I get out the noble footed
bathtub with sketched hair &
face you head on, thinking what you might
need one day is poor memory, a possum
thuds down to earth on brunswick street I yell
bomb only cos I’m short sighted and
must amuse myself somehow &
wear the wind’s glass slippers to bed &
wake to dim electric heaters keeping the cough in
so as not to wake the barbarians up let’s do it properly
love, Oh love, I try say & the medicine dropper
approaches & a hand passes me the coffee, cos
when I’m drunk I just run away looking for
interesting rocks along the shore
.
Blossom Hibbert
.