#414 - in whipbird country, little kingdom

 

14.ii.21

414

2.45

in whipbird country

(revised and expanded)

 

goanna up

this far into the clock

 

come into the rain

come out

who’ll speak?

 

standing in my own words only

all skies fallen

 

drought of years

and now we’re under

 

sway with a breeze when

 

who’ll out? 

come speak

 

trees tell themselves to each other here

 

when the weather

like a chime this charm

 

in whipbird country

and it is a season

 

clouds shift to show a sun

here lyrics wax

 

is this their love?

and are they home?

 

where poem likewise is a call

 

who’ll come?

speak out

 

think of the bells

and wring the branches

 

hear them

sing for the silence between

a kind of punctuation

we are random to

 

forest of here to far

keep hidden

 

and have you heard

each of us scripted

just these few words

open?

 

I hold them in my beak

 

 

little kingdom come to me, all my own

 

a breezy ponder

 

consisting of this many rooms

never where they were, never whomever forgotten inside

a mobile house, inwardly mobile

 

awkward, with its contradiction lying

and here’s the idea of the book in the story

all difference and we believe lying there

 

archive of the self or soul

or else another superstition

?

 

how does a thing stand for another?

next door or come inside?

 

a hidden midst

(a hit-and-miss)

or misted midden bid

 

where were you then when may I ask?

 

the all-night wiping your arse

no one will dream it for you

 

slept up to the heights of a telling

slept in towards resolve

slid down to all forgetting day

 

we watch the body for first signs

 

have we slept enough to be?

won’t shake the waking out

 

imagine the house first dreamt

   long gone

though you’re still living there

 

waking is like that as well

you tell it till it’s true

 

we left the world out in the rain

was all as the ants foretold