In the beginning there was the fall
two or more Lucretian dustmites
ones and zeros, wheatstuffs and yeast
the paint-wrinkle of air across milks
I heard the birdwhistles of late summer,
oiltankers beaded across horizons &
broken into oceanbath projectors. I
heard the Saturday traffic of freeway
sandstones, petrol bowsers lit & drum ‘n’
bassy in Cherrybrook. Sounds like
topology – an easy analogy is a rubber
band – folding over and into each other
as the cityglow murked over to the left.
I had a thousand things for you, mostly
binary, some knotted together or glommed;
others burnt out & sumpy like motoroil,
tobacco lint bedding into potplants. I saw
the cinema of showering neighbours, planes
heading straight for the sexshop buzz of the
church’s cross – cinema for me, for you
