Wednesday, 13 March 2013

writing exercise: poem in which an old washing machine on spin cycle makes the earth move


mirboo planter box lips    
waxen with lavender
and eucalypt polish
start to quaver – grey lead-

flecked sawdust cascades
pools among acrid weeds
where rotten firewood
shrouded in the residue

of drowned fish tank rocks
flit hollowly into gnomic
shapes sodden with ill-omens
I can’t forbear transposing

over the withered mint
over the green sun
over Charlotte’s plant-like face
over my whiplashed whites


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