|September 2002 / Volume Three / Issue One|
We prepare to meditate
form a Xerxes flotilla.
The woman to my left wears Windsor Smiths
I definitely do not want to know this
but cursed with eyes that must document
Our sensei demonstrates the manner in which to assume
Be not elephants shaking water from ears
she does not say, but means
be lithe as the cobra.
We attempt to emulate sunning butterflies
I visualise a slow approaching toad.
The woman to my right
has torn the toe of a beige stockinged toe
as she wriggles
it flips as if scalped.
Head protected beneath a coffee table
I long to fill myself with Shakra green
become a bottle so that toes, calves, thighs, buttocks
release tangled energy like carbonated fizz.
Hey, look, Iím a two litre, family-sized PET Sprite.
my body is a zeppelin
as I lie it bloats
consumes the putrescence that remains when drought and ducks
have fouled the disappearing water.
a pointless island of bone
abandoned as a nest is abandoned when the way is exposed
just a short
fox trek across.
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