Woolloomooloo reverie

The war starts in the way
You pass by anchored ships
Nary a glance, at the rats on the ropes
Departing with that verminous intelligence 
In swift, prehensile fingers
Eyes dawn red

Salt on your lips
Envied by gulls (unequally envious)
You discard the mess
They only for a moment
Fold an outstretched wing
A squall to bite
The morning a lament
The plane of the horizon
Tilting a few uncomfortable degrees

Dizziness is relative (you think)
To the sea in your inner ear
Slowly soughing
While from an unknown distance
(You are still with me?)
In the imagined interstice, stars fading in the bruise

The world tilts like a toy on its axis