A
stippled line of birds concertinas
across
the sky, an enormous person,
dressed
in fluffy clothes, reclines against
Table
Mountain then becomes a duck
someone's
thrown a horde of zinc plates onto
the
ocean's face, the glare's unbearable
a
massive black head pops through the skin
takes
a nibble of the air, the sun lolls
ever
closer to Robyn Island as if
we
do not know it never sleeps
the
black head implodes on itself
disappears
as if though it never was
and
there, a plume of misty water appears
I'm
waiting for the green flash I never
seem
to see, clouds gather on the
horizon
like a charging army
on
a dusty battle field, which makes me think
that
God is running across the universe
and
if later on tonight I should happen
to
see a shooting star
I'll
know, that God was just playing marbles
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