every tiny arrow
every arrow word
nowhere is there any thing
to be what we come after
prepare the boats for high ground
the animal of you
the first third of the end
is simple
it comes in a shower
of precise downfalls
Aside
NEW! Mud map: Australian women’s experimental writing
some very ancient cross genre work of mine, plus other “experimental” things
the beginning and
by the last tree in the last summer
on the hill where the last sun falls
on the things that at last mean
we are finally unwound
from the hollow arrow
around which we have spun
our ignorant lives
we leave the first last
to wait inside the darkness
where the black snow falls
like the last bird
1 of 1
Maria Zajkowski 