Poetry

Powder of Light

Hunched in the farm ute tarpaulin against wind the moon chasing treetops as it yellows into night us, going to the pictures by the State forest way my mate’s brother driving we are at the age that has since slipped down toward toddlers for whom adults and dreams mostly have no names yet. What wagged on screen then made from powder of light were people in music who did and said dressy stuff in English or American kissed slow with faces crossed flicked small-to-big in an instant, then were back in Australia we believed it was Australia— then our driver…

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