Gunmetal road xylophone rails breathe like that old vapourlocked EH Holden your dad had strangulation blue and around the goon-eyed, bifold fender a three day growth of rust an astronaut grin, the jawbone from high orbit, crashing back to earth more patrician than abrasive the one with Venetian blinds and rainbows in the curvature of the glass as if a gondola raced down Constable’s flooded streets, past the Doge a fallen gumtree lurking with a crocodile intent beneath the red brick arches of the Peel St viaduct nothing is ever quite as close, as it seems the rail bridge built by invading Romans of iron cast, from sheeting silver, curving away in brute and manacle latticework their mathematics lapsed, levied to that noxious lead paint intoxication highway frequencies monoxide bright time in that clumsy columnar link grinds from first to second as it shifts
