A cat retching to furball
the line about the moon turning to salt
Caught on the barb wire of memory
That bent 1871 penny
you know the one with the punch hole
The over worn leather strip fraying to itch
Where the cable car jumps and starts
in the flirtation of a blinding dazzle
A wobbly sentence lost to dawn walking
When the bird spoke to you only you
of the metamorphic curving horizon
In the gliding tucked hope of home
Cleaning the gas lamps, Melbourne.
James Walton Poetry 