a broken birds nest
in the cool, shady fug
out of the sun;
a lizard, dry
and torn in two, flicked
into the leaf litter;
dislocation presses gently
like a worn, old mantle
around midsummer;
where I live, where the streets
are often empty, I can
ask a question as wide
as a single word:
so what I do, is stub out
my cigarette, and step
back inside

Jonothon Twist (Western Australia)

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