Time. No time between us. Just boys in the backyard staring up at the cloud burst to the north. Walking, rain drenched and laughing, down the long stretch of colour. The darkness lit only by cigarettes. We’re not holding, we’re not reaching out for what’s better. We’re not holding, post-its fuelling love letters. Remember tears warm, horizons grin. Black smoke billowing. Mud-lathered, lumbering forth from sacred swamps. Blood-splattered, mulberry stains on virgin cloth. Clothes tattered, paint covered sons of suburban pubs. We scatter, the fire rises but the spirits drop. Down, down on the pipeline, in the heat of the summer and the tinkling bell of a rabid dog. Rafting, through pig skins and sewage. Black snakes and tall grass. Everyone’s shit underfoot will pass.
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"There will be light come the morning. Hold tight till then to your sleep. Onerous sound breaks your slumber. Wash, rinse, soil then repeat. Repeat verse. Repeat Chorus. Wash, rinse, repeat. To the boys, to the girl, to the weeping tree." Girlvert