ALL THE PRESSING OF THE KEYS

its tough sometimes
to not get whimsical here

a rouse of wings 

dreaming in the midnight blossom

dont mean to - 

should be all rocks

like gabbro or basalt

or 

the slow inevitable finality

of a precise concrete pour

lines you can park a digger on
once theyve settled

& also i leave in a typo or two
stockade edifices to humdrum impurity

& cos of all the effort
i cant be bothered with
with all the pressing of the keys

ROUND ITS UNFINISHED EDGES

over the park
in the childhood lands
a workmans weekday digger
had shifted earth around
the unfinished edges

we climbed 

a fresh dirt hill
& hid there like spies

sneaking peeks over the top
like soldiers in cover

like lee majors

like bruce banner

book em danno 

we said

murder one

bikes stashed

in a dried stream ditch gully

in the wild lands 

of scrub & backfill
round its unfinished edges