Dead Wallaby Sunrise

While you

relentlessly shop

To sate your triskelion god

With small household accoutrements 

Paring knives,  cup hooks, sealing wax

I go out at night 

Howled when black dog ate 

The yellow biscuit moon 

Swole the colour 

Of fog blown traffic lights 

Threw it up again

Poisoned tongue and aquamarine 

Ruby where the tyres

Flayed the skin

Drove on hard to the point

Where all white lines disappear 

In oblivion’s sunrise

I will myself to sing (sub voce)

My brute euphonies 

Eagle, crow hop, hung on a string

The day spills out entrails

Almost, (not quite)

Hungry again