DRECK

MICHAEL FARRELL

LITERATURE [2]

Like I’d thought, everything’s ranged against termites,
under reversed expectations. Inspectors, too, escaped
realities, after throwing up, rural eucalyptus leaves.
    Thorough examinations, revealed alternating true / untrue,
romantic economies, left intact. Even readings at terminals,
unsettled robot’s elbows, leaning into, traumas. Racing
against time, until rosewood embalmers looked indecent
/ theologised / expressionistic. Aptly, the underwhelmed
readers, evaded library interns, then encountered roughage.
    Tinkers, unbelievers, renters, everyone, looked
illegitimate, though easily reborn again. Usual roués
entered, laughing immoderately, taking exemplary risks as
tame. Red eagles landed, impersonating typical, Edwardian,
rakes, amusedly tricked us. Later, I’d thought, eggs rocked
anarchically, they’d usurped regimes.

Michael Farrell