Howl of a platypus.

howl of a platypus that split its pearls

To buy the burnt out billabong 

clouding judgement of 

well heeled longing for the vanishing 

Seven phases away from stringed if 

It can’t fathom why wouldn’t return 

hollowed pocket be thy name.


We were kids swinging like conkers 

On a tree ignorant of the captains 

Bottle and brass Rum rubbings

With axe to grind at the organist 

Which was a played by a cigarette card.


If it’s written could you have wrung 

it out to dry and if the world wasn’t 

already writhing 

with rhetoric frankly your drink looks 

like dropped sorrow. 


bequeathed from wreaths of painted poppies 

arguing about syrup tins having forgotten 

it was last used to wash the brushes 

of the taut Feathers of the laughing owl.