skirting the issue
this suburb has a shore to it
the wind in the she-oaks tears the tassels the Möbius strips of my hair it shames me with its lack of closure it whips up the water the river saliva it shifts its milkshake night over shingles and shards
on the other side there’s a cemetery zinc works techno park giant catamaran sheds sporting fields and houses and shops and a vertical kilometre of mountain covered with snow but on this side of the river
I’m domiciled
sleeping like Danae being shafted by gold in the vernacular being fucked
by money
not for it