Ciao, Pardner
Montana royalty
That cattle call in your heart
herds you home
Through the muck of indefinite pandemic
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Sometimes I kiss my hands
under my covers late at night,
pretend I’m kissing you. But
they don’t kiss back, of course,
I was tired of my man boobs
so I woke up early the next day
and did some pushups
When I read the ‘About’ section about bands and fantasise about
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YOU GAUGE THE NECESSITY OF ART
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As winner of the coveted Billybong Prize for progressive literature, Theresa, not yet 45, should have been on cloud nine. And had her sister not come to the ceremony, young daughter in hand, Theresa having left her worries about her future decision (syllable or one letter?) at home, bask in the glory.
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you know that feeling that’s like
the feeling of having too many
awkward conversations
in one day?