on a shelf of rock battered with the crimped edging
we get on hands and knees and let legs
slicing us with its chill reef white with
gnashed wanting more as the pool
waiting to be thrown waiting for the thump of waking
I didn’t know where to look.
Though we’d shared dinners,
strange to stand beside you that helpless,
When you woke I helped
two blood-chipped teeth rolling
That night you spat strings of blood
to be forgotten among screws, nubs of chalk,
and stained like museum flints under glass.
Tim Wright has lived in Sydney since 1999. By the time you read this he should have almost finished an honours thesis on the intersections of poetry, photography and new media.