Stirred alive
To the pit-pat hum-lax
Of the Virgin Mary
Slinking toward my body
Tucked into the corner
Of a used divan
Shamelessly
She shakes me
From the pretty briars of a deep sleep
Containing a beautiful wish
She taps
She grates me
And I’ve been commissioned
To wake Nia, wake!
Flops out her pre-crying cock
And I get drummed
And I fix
On the lost life of an insect
Smeared over the wall
Skid marked
And I think of grade three
And I think of brown
I rally
Show a leg
In a country RSL
Where all the people are thick
Sauntering about, red
Like the’ve pockets full’a rocks
Normality is obesity
Fatality is normality
Jar of Moccona
Is all I have to work with out here
Judgement gulp it
Distain sip it
But can’t say I hate the son of a bitch
In these quarters
It’s my only friend
I take a moment in pardon
To recall lovely things I like:
Vivid Spanish tapestries
Pastasciutta
Sughetto di pomodorino
Basilico fresco
Espresso e Limoncello
Warm sand
The laugh of my baby niece
I idle
In the direct sunlight
But it never touches me
I never get hot
Written by Nia Di Gennaro