Expounding a triptych on a violet reed
he assumes attention
as if you’d luck in, or programmed,
like a charity on the council, learnt buccaneer
She frills his omen, doily to the chair
as a film amps decrepitude’s feast
You don’t know where to put your eyes
says you’ve got to be sure type of thing, two-pot screamer
hinged to the bar
Sky that was a pillow is all
though your chook wings fleck the footpath
and day’s vacuumed by a screen
Meet the subset, inventing dinner’s
folio of lanterns above her art of shrinking women