They gather in their winter coats; Stare off distantly. I nod and smile and stand a while; They say not a word to me. They strip the trees, raze the ground Give over all they find.
Buried amongst olive green leaves Pink camillias attract a brilliant flash Yellow and white but barely seen The Honeyeater does his mad dash Beyond, in the tall Norfolk pine
I prefer profundity to profanity. There is no fucking joy in shallowness. But the depth of her ignorance was like a stick of dynamite in a bon-bon; it shocked me so much it nearly killed me.
She left me Like the last leaf On a dormant tree Plucked off by A randy wind Whose promises Blew away Just as easily She left behind Random hairs A favoured lipstick And a faint scent