crescents
someone has scalped the moon— disfigured! her face
has landed in my garden.
it is sprawled across my freshly cut lawn, translucent
and sticky as milk. my poor daisies lie crushed
underneath the weight of that freshly planted
easter island head. she’s an enigmatic monolith,
with her acne pocked cheeks and those eyes
still open; like two astronomic sunken whirlpools.
last night i lay down on her asteroid
dappled brow, just to see
what she was staring at. i saw the ragged skein
of her grinning jaw, still hinged on the stars.
These days
I
wake up with my mouth open
like
a baby bird. I take
my
pills after breakfast
and
always remember
to
pluck
the
hairs
between
my eyebrows
like
daisies.
Arrange
them in a vase,
leave
them on the windowsill.
(These were originally published in the University of Sydney arts literary journal, ARNA.)
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