don’t give me nice
words and quiet nods
that clink amongst the cutlery
and crooning current affairs.
before i stifle yet another yawn
lets talk real words about the weather
or anything really.
wet skin smelling like pine needles
with mud between my toes
is the weather.
shouting at the sky
to bring down rain
reading the dry days
from the wilt
of plectranthus leaves
is the weather
impolite as always
its orgasmic sky thunder
ripping quiet from my lips
leaving breathless sky days
spreading me sideways through time.
yes i will pass the salt
but in exchange i want the real words
that i can chew on
grind down between my teeth
to their bits of sunlight and grit.
give me the words you spat in the dust
on the side of the road,
wattle seeds crackling underfoot,
because they burnt
accidental ant on your tongue
and you could not keep them in any more
without singeing your eyelashes and
burning a hole in your belly full of unsaid.
let me hold them for a moment unafraid.
speak the world to me dammit
or say nothing and let me live between my silence
and the light alive in your eyes.