Gayman Park

first draft - class exercise

the wind is rusty on its hinges
it takes the willow tree with its swing
easy come, easy go
Hayman park

the wheels of her car drive the earth's trousers open
there are no threads of children at the bank's hemline

we always enter from behind
where it's most quiet, where mud dips with the gash of a tyre's slash


now in a lime pit of quicksand we sink
                                     light the joint, babe

the air has become my mother; it clucks its tongue and kills the flame



we rest upon a brown leather picnic
her dark hair cuts through the bladed grass like raining chocolate
and the empty bags of glue to the right ; tittering with a pink neon
             crinkled wisps and giggles concealed in breeze


dusty streets separate the world from us
her frosting is as good as mine;
in a pit that holds many hearts to its belt


unbuckled we lay
                         here's where I lost my unspoken lust in the hay
                         a quick roll ; LIGHT IT UP! here's where I quenched the earth's thirst


and by now the lake is too dark to visit
oily figures stare and slip behind towers of bark
the Queens of the evening's cloak have marked their territory
and are now returning home


once more, where the once-missing children too return to litter the streets
like chubby termites feasting on glistening wood
on the way the forest's offspring gather on road

bright lights defeat the shadow of my sight
my legs hurt, are hanging off the edge of my seat
like tired tan limbs of a Pohutakawa tree

i am cold and asking for it
again and again
                    light the joint babe

and bring your knife too; the forest is dangerous at night; and /begging/ for it, again and again and again