from Kirstyn Jogging, because I’m not a teenager and my metabolism is unforgiving. This wildlife, steaming dirt path, glowgreen grass, leaves me childlike, remembering nature club and sausage sizzlers. A scent-of-rain-on-wild-garlic way of living. Huff on, the winter-bellied swifts fly perilously close, perhaps my sweat is low-rent nectar. I dare you: feast on my unhealthiness. But beware of this malnourished, low-iron, husk of womanhood. Dance on. Swing by and let me smile for the first time since they told me I wasn’t ill enough to take seriously. You’re not dead yet. So shut up and sort yourself out, you are a rebut. Your scrambled brain not quite mangled enough. The sunset calls time on jogging. The swifts won’t forget the taste of me.
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from Daley Nixon Earthquakes in my frail elbows Weather the fiery tempests of my brain Cats amongst startled pigeons Wrap my battered heart in a velvet blanket The future walks a tightrope Hammerhead sharks lurking in a peaceful lagoon Sirens to the shipwrecked Masked strangers at a welcome party The gilded shoreline beckons A maritime mirage of yearning The tempest is at death's door I am home |
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