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