Some one is bending over and copping it badly.
They know who they are.
They are a disgrace.
They are poor writers.
I wandered outside and heard the waves crashing
I heard the suicide of water and earth
I wandered with arms outstretched
And collided with the Bunya pine
Down the laneway I took you
You wanted sex
I wanted you
We copulated on the bitumen
I stand in speckled light
The shade is uncompromising this time of year
I hear children laughing and playing
Their voices become cheerful echoes in the