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It's April now, and autumn comes, Cooling sun and bearing leaves To the indistinctions of the earth; The long rain falls through its own forever And joints remember Their pain, injury and endeavour. This time last year I turned my calender To a picture of Lothlorien in spring, Where canticles of sunlight Envision the summer; Wondering if the slow, sure turn of the year Would entail the growth of my spirit. Traffic throngs the city streets As pub and cinema decant Their patrons to the night. I pick my way between the drunks From Queen Street to K Road. Music loiters in the streets; I feed on grease and chips. The roads slow down As the last commuter Returns to the habituations of home, To alcohol's withdrawal and television's drug. The yellow moon flares in the trees Above streets of caesura. It is quite now, save where, In Swanson Street, The Globe chambers burn Stronger toward midnight. Deeper into the night, My fever burns. Cold consumes my limbs, and pressure Clogs in my skull. My dreams Are monstrous: The silenced cities of an earthquake world. I suffocate, and wake To a room clotted with darkness. My bulk is sway depth Ponderous with fever. I affirm the existence of the world With Radio Hauraki: the music Is muffled by influenza. I travel corridors shadowed and surreal For orange juice and milk. Down the motorway Cars mammoth through the night. My calendar shows the month as April. This time last year I travelled Early down the Southern Motorway Where violet telephone boxes close Upon the empty embryo mouths within. I have sat back in a van To office, hall and pub - Houses of good repute Where guards shoot pool, Where we Grime the dust into our hands With vacuum cleaner, brush and broom, By ornate bars where bottles preside, Confident of their consecration. I have ridden early, dazed by sleep, To Queen Street construction Where coffee sours the air through night to dawn. The night, this month, I hold a vigil, Night to dawn. My breath Sharpens in the air As latex moon dissolves to dawn. The sun breeds colour in the sky Where deeper reds tan into gold Toward the zenith. The red iron coin Melts in the sky And ennervates my eye. This month, this year, I turn a calendar To a picture of Lothlorien in spring, Questing the season - Wondering if the slow, sure change of the year Will entail the growth of my spirit. |
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