The Awkward Conversation

(texts on the floor)

 

 

This hard soil of rebirth.

Will we talk about it?

The muscle, the sky and the earth.

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Of my lofty perch, blood red with disquiet,

And the sinewy games, buried in darkness.

For a yellow strand embellished, holds yet.

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It is I who excavates crafted consciousness

To the passage of plump, digging brown blue.

Away from the death of this variegated mess.

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And the silver chilled spoon soured through,

Upon the cypress floors splintering yawn.

Guile at a watery pocket vase that you grew,

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Rains a momento in falling carcasses at dusk

And leaves me to wallpaper, particles of husk.

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EXHIBITED: West of Central, Bathurst Regional Art Gallery 2023

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