the brain works by association
how did i brave this year’s mid-monsoon
was there a slow-hand anthem for a girl you knew from a forum

we all wait behind a black totem
for time to unravel its chainstitches
prepare yourself for warts and all

it was always the job, the serrated edges of a pub steak meal
no more baby talk
we are in thrall with suburbia

i admire the peony of your suffering
the tiny wings on your ankles have been clipped
the morning papers’ headlines written in invisible ink

perhaps in little crevices
a prayer is hammered out, somewhere
your face contorted into a grin
measuring the waves

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