Woman Talks in the Royal Arcade

to no one
one on one
carer gone
to the toilet
gentle movements
to the air
the nod of a head
the wave of a hand
flicks of the hair
our window
a rest
hand printing
the glass
mouthing confessions
as onlookers pass

chair

our chair
suspended
on air
where our
ghosts
made their
toasts
to love

collingwood friday morning

sleepy haunty
weirdcold streets
rakish jaunty
completely empty
still, no flaunty
cafes, no shops
no people waiting
at stops
no chatter
no one wondering
what's the matter
but me
stepping solely
through the streets

moth in the bathroom

trembles, remembering

The Moral of the Myths / The Lesson of the Legends

Love the one who loves you
or you'll scorn a wrathful
god

and be changed into a
serpent, or a fountain, something
odd

or awful, mortifying,
horrifying, so much worse a
state

than loving, with a false love,
the one you really
hate