Miracle
Issue 7
Faster than a Perigee Moon Bruno Cooke
Faster than a perigee moon you hit me
waiting for our keynote sphere—
you hit me faster blue and grey
now the moon’s in apogee, bound in resin and glinting burling
sweetened like a bail-out.
in throats bound in bound out faster blue and grey you hit me sweetened like typewritten like stars in throats all blue and pillowed like grey dark blue dust feather-white and
Stripped down and smelling of skin, lined with skin, blue and blue-bottled. Typewritten hand-curls burling in prosody, vulcanised— swirled out in a timber wasteland plumbing roots through flotsam soil: we are congregated here, pews south-facing,
here comes an angel, blue and grey, to catalyse the drift-away.
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