The Still, 2019

The Still,

You told me you were born in a taxi on the Nullarbor, while bodies dissolved into the landscape where they lay.

Their skin seeps into the ground. Crumbling ruins around us. Blood running underneath my skin as I lay on the ground. I am comfortable here, it is calm, it is gone.  

On this day, but I’m leaving.

Your broken limbs cradle my mud walls.

I find it hard to wait. I empathise with the static dancing as the light dissolves into me. The water drips down your neck in the sun’s contusion, then it slips and we turn to grey, asleep in the branches while the noise becomes me.