In the video, you talk to him
and then you walk outside into the darkness.

Here: 3PM
& lonely stinging nettle
gathers grossly at my ankles,
taking them for a quick bath
I cry at the cemetery
I stare at red place, which looks far away,
but is home.
I am homesick,
sick of dreaming
I dreamt you were in my schoolyard,
And I was telling you, you were the best I ever had.
I dreamt the children on the beaches, my children. I dreamt my husband who died.
I miss him terribly, I want to vomit.

It is so blonde and Australian,
cloudy & rhythmic,
I stand bored, another kind of warrior,
crave calling my mutton friends in my little shop-shirt,
my sulky meadow tie.

I do all my inventory online –
I become that shallow 40ºC
you suffer on PTV,
you are saying you missed me,
I am saying do not get swallowed. –

Over & after:
phoenix land ready for stripes
no more consequences
no more smoke
no more prayer
no more thought
Sunday has been erased, too.

High-horses bring me back down to earth,
soiled and routine.
I punch the Prime Minister in the face, I make my fists bloody
with how much I hate him
I am a violent woman

I want
to be a child.

📷 Photo by Neil Thomas on Unsplash