Gods of my youth

Type
Poetry

At night we leave the colony to go to the ballet:
Balanchine, mixed repertoire, Tchaikovsky.
It’s American Girl Night and the girls in pigtails and gingham
carry dolls in pigtails and gingham,

ballet
Type
Poetry

Greenslopes in March

for H

alternate versions of tom thumb’s blues
you’re done up like somebody’s dream and that band
next door makes young marble giants

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Type
Poetry

Holiday pattern

I drive the boat to the shack and do nothing
like knitting a Hole in the buffet table
and other Tasks that need mismanaging
I wake up five hours later for a tootle
to find Icecream in the fishtank and the phone ringing

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