Sunday, 24 May 2015

21. Crowds

We’re hiding from the crowds

streets of collapsing sand dunes
the burble and shift of people

We bike away
Away to the park where the

big high waterfall meets
the long straight road

We sit at the crest and pretend

it’s a carnival slide skiting to
the basin of the city

Waiting to let go
Over his shoulder I’m reading

dirty ads from boy hustlers
paedophile promises

romantic as a fist in the face

We shift on the rocks
adjusting hems and bruises

At night, they turn it off
the park the road the waterfall

They’ll leave this place to
solitude and lilac trees

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