November, 90 minutes after sunset, 42°S

catch me in

deep sharpness

jail of light

no, jail of sense

 

gum leaves

are fuel and

blades

but don't scarify

 

that deep itch remains

the view from the patio

(I mean

the flight deck)

 

is something to

contemplate

while I turn

this barbecue

 

which is neither

my flesh now

nor

yours