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highlyeccentricWe met the swanmay brothers in Sydney, late on an autumn Saturday,
their feathers fluffed as flannel-flowers on the hillsides,
hair black as crows' gifts;
all soaked to the skin in the afternoon's thunderstorm,
makeup running, red-ringed on each eye, blood-crimson in lipstick.
One's plume-shake left a star-trail of glitter, caught in the surface tension,
sprayed the passers-by with droplets, and gone:
off down the slicked footpath, running —
their laughter
mournful, in the echo, as birds call in flight.
From the latest edition of Goblin Fruit
their feathers fluffed as flannel-flowers on the hillsides,
hair black as crows' gifts;
all soaked to the skin in the afternoon's thunderstorm,
makeup running, red-ringed on each eye, blood-crimson in lipstick.
One's plume-shake left a star-trail of glitter, caught in the surface tension,
sprayed the passers-by with droplets, and gone:
off down the slicked footpath, running —
their laughter
mournful, in the echo, as birds call in flight.
From the latest edition of Goblin Fruit