the detective 4: safeways

after_sunfall_s

A detective and his client journey through the post-apocalypse, seeking what lies beyond the obvious sea. Here is part 1.

We walk for hours towards a hidden horizon
where the distant bivalves are silvery phantoms,
photoluminescent contradictions
in the darkness.

My client has her axolotl armaments,
and I might be brave, but I’m myself—
a frightened woodland creature
seeking refuge from the restless night.

She makes a stop sign with her hand,
although it’s not hexagonal.

Over there a building stands.
We’ll rest until the daylight.

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the detective 3: household waste

cyber_dream_s

In a post-apocalyptic world, a detective and his client seek to discover what lies beyond the obvious sea. Part 1 and part 2 already happened.

I follow her, wander through
the ravaged landscape
searching for her dream, a fantasy
from long ago.

At dusk, we reach a silent square
of broken swings and slippery dips,
of roundabouts and culs-de-sac,
where all the fallen houses
are numbered zero.

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the detective 1: horizontal departure

before_and_after_facts_s

I wake up slowly in the soft infinity,
to discover I’m a dried out coffee stain
on the office floor.

By eight o’clock, I’ve morphed into a forgettable insect;
in half an hour, give or take, I’m a currawong
with a broken wing that fluttered through a window;
and when a customer knocks at nine,
I’m vaguely human, vaguely a detective,
polite, denatured, and unnatural.

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seekers of yesterday

water_panes_s

on an evening in the soft infinity.

The sheeting rain outside
is a comfort and a warning
while I solder in a copper tangle:
connections from the future to the past,
with an insulating bypass round the present.

In the stormy world outdoors,
bright cascades of lightning challenge
my pretense, until a sudden surge and roar
redacts the copper to smoke and honey,
and a circuit breaker trips.

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transit authority

forests_of_rain_ns

While forests of rain
are tumbling from the clouds,
she sleeps.

From each exhaled breath,
swarms of insects, transparent to opaque,
spiral fluttering, butterflies to birds
inflating,
to armadillo exhalations.
And soon there will be humans
in the aisles of nature’s
megastore.

In a flurry of her own creations,
the goddess wakes.

I will not take that path again.

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line drawings

sea_and_cake_s

in São Paulo

My night thoughts spider scuttle
to the web of thoughts,
to be forgotten in the halogenic daylight.
Pigeon heralds coo chromatic arches of the dawn,
and by the afternoon’s descent,
a gentle samba on a headland far away
calls in the rain.

Lightning flashes in the belly of the city sky,
deus irae in smoky yellow,
and castle clouds are falling
in plastotechnic raindrops
that merge and rise to build again
as solid as the world.

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bilocated worlds

autumn_smoke_s

My phone politely starts my Sunday:

Good morning human,
your mission is to find out
whether purpose matters.

Where subdivided paths marked
invisible demarcations,
I saw enough to know
the truth of almost nothing.

Where falling cartoon clocks shattered
into bells and spiral springs,
I waited for a gentle sound.

Where graduated tick marks
switched the traffic lights,
I stopped to contemplate my lies.

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clothes hangers

the_first_dawn_s

To find employment and the truth
I read the classifieds in tea leaves—

symbol seeking an equation
clothesline seeking washing
objectified stranger seeking life

I’ll try again tomorrow,
investigate the websites in the clouds,
where my skill
at staring into light and dark
might be less superfluous.

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