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Crusoe

‘Let me tell you, boyo, bach: I love this place, where green hills shelter me from fear.’

‘Their newborn children grew / like streetlights. We grew like insurance payments. / We grew like resentment.’

‘Damn, brother. You saw what they did to my face? / Poked out my eyes. Knocked teeth out of place’.

‘Lichen-green lines of shingle pulsate and waver / when you lift your eyes. It’s the glare.’

‘I swelter in the dusk / and chase the flies, abstractedly, / until I half forget them.’

ʻThe birds refused to fly and the soul / grated against the landscape.ʼ