days of stone
—
by
in the Wheatbelt sharp grain ears listen… wind-song Ryan Stone
cubby house— in the far corner cobwebs Ryan Stone
wild things dancing— a spring wind bedsheet rumpus spins our Hills Hoist Ryan Stone
while shopping abroad— beer, bibles, guns and sweatpants all in one aisle Ryan Stone
on black satin sheets she gives herself to the moon— rose petals and thorns Ryan Stone
forest twilight insubstantial geisha— Komorebi Ryan Stone
silk corner cobwebs entwine yesterday’s dry husks, bloodless and rotting Ryan Stone
after the dance her questioning hands— is this your first time? Ryan Stone
in tumbleweed fields old man scarecrow waving, blackbirds fly on Ryan Stone
At the garage saleCherished toys in an old boxA man asks, how much? Ryan Stone
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