Published in Overland Issue 206 Autumn 2012 · Uncategorized rock candy Joel Ephraims I once a bird flew in a blue moon . shell shocked she cuts across a lawn towards me and my Pulsar parked by the curb . balloons tied to the letter box to mark a party (not yours) . Pluto, I must explain, has left its atom collider hallway and moved in next door . It will be fun . like living in a ball pit with just one ball . through the horoscope window I watched it roll . baby it’s time we got a move on . Subway for feed cover her with my chequered shirt and she crunches ice berg lettuce while set designers were wolf behind full stops . . . under the exit sign . it’s late lets go . the port – spinning tides, through lavender shoots I chart her freckles mascara’d constellations . when the forest turned away its Tunguska slapped cheek a butterfly was clipped the dark parts of its wings . See that ? over there ? it’s a bower bird that hovers in you . why hide behind fridge magnets, why paint your nails comet tail blue ? the speedometer hangs a half clock never hung on a wall crammed with seconds when I floor it . zodiacs zigzag . straight as the crow flies, phantoming the effects of speed . night clubbing . dove tailed drunk . rock and roll . II hand in hand across the courtyard . having a girlfriend is like having a basketful of lemons, glances, and lavender curls . the green notes slip through my fingers like fish, around us the sound of the market crash . she licks her gums as her toffee apple melts smiles revealing pebbles and core . in wall street sit ins against capitalism, all the doors jammed and her umbrella folded as the dollar falls . sun flowers grow beach front to breath taking views and a lettuce crumbles under a farmers blue print . she lies in my lap while I pick the locks in her hair . i gets two skips she gets three and we toffee skate home, appleless . III a blonde bomb shell found mostly in the rain . plummeting the clock held still in a cloud, fuse damp by her dresser . hair clips, Cosmo magazines, Xanax – outside hail . I throw clock bombs, keeping time, over her garden wall . meteors shower with sheep . galaxies try lip stick on for size in her mirror faintly . Uruzgan automatic fire no ones asleep . we hold minute hands under her electric blanket . I try to hide my hard on, we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves . Jupiter sizzles in a storm drain always watchful we watch rain through conch shells – I wonder what makes you tick . IV she parked by a lake . locked the wheel with a chrome arm and the window with her own . popped through bubble wrap . sky blacking out in the windscreen . tiny comets trailed from her finger tips to the eclipse of her lips . in Tupperware dreams mermaids said burned clouds must move away from the bay this Saturday . it was just a pipe dream (hold your breath Apollo) . a body wrapped in table cloth, road maps, a summer dress turns slowly on its axis . alligator clips spark in the rear views’ tilt where a child catches rolexed fish, dressing gowns, diamonds from a super nova in a butterfly net . planets and stars dance like confetti . Saturn hoola’s its ice hoops while being a ball . her last thought being that she never had one . do they play monopoly in heaven ? V this week Pluto hangs out with star fish . I hold my palms against the crystal curve . her future clear working border security at Sydney Air Port, leafing through x rays of luggage, confiscating fireworks while I press calderas’ softly down in snow globes . once in bed we thrashed about and knocked over a lava lamp . this month we drive we drive we drive . Pluto will get cosy under a smoke alarm . we will play Uno and your eyes will turn to me as doubles of a Trouble games dice pop orb looking back at me like it’s my turn to roll . to roll what ? snow balls and we fight with them in the attic . I never want to be standing out in a rattled snow looking in at you, you looking out at me through : balloon smoke volcanic avalanche powdered up days iced strings Perisher Blue . Joel Ephraims Joel Ephraims lives on the south-east coast of NSW. He recently had a suite of poems published in The Red Room Company’s The Disappearing. More by Joel Ephraims Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays First published in Overland Issue 228 9 June 2023 · Aotearoa / New Zealand Ko wai mātou—we are water Hana Pera Aoake Dr Huhana Smith has spent the last twenty years focussing on the restoration of her ancestral coastal land and waterways at Kuku Beach, near Levin, in Aotearoa/New Zealand, using biochar—the carbon-rich remains of slow-burned wood. Smith and her collaborators use biochar not only as a tool for land restoration, but also as an artistic medium. Their work is critical for thinking about what is possible when Māori communities have control of their cultural and spiritual bases. 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