Thursday, February 17, 2011

Chasing It

Ghost gums bend with the lonely wind
Seeking my company on this weed-strewn road
Where I walk
On a grey, summer morning
Collecting gravel in my rubber tread
And leaving nothing of me behind
Not even the scent of my damp back
Beneath my flapping tee
From where I stand
I can see your TV
Your sillouette
And this house
And this street
And the pebbles in your driveway
Are like misplaced notes from a fragmented melody
Recalled by a wafer of my gluttonous memory

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