Was it attenuating just to be
a treealabra, whimsically, there
above a horned pale head? Ebony
aphid eyes when he says beware
these woods, decapitated deer who wilt
their budding heads this time of year. He speaks
of trample by flowered herd with gilt
of lips, a lilt of hummingbird. Your cheek
he touches first will sting, a blush of flesh
molested, tingling while he's twinkling, lit
by candled pine - you'll query its express
design. Perfection, maybe counterfeit,
illuminates this tête-à-tête decreed
innocent as seeds - or were you deceived?
Bio from 2019 issue of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest:
Treelabra previously published for "Flutter"
Kristin has many books published including A Victorian Dollhousing Ceremony, Puritan U, an editor on the "You are Not Your Rape Anthology" and editor of Pink Plastic House
Hugging the vast bulk of the continent the range extends its fat botanic paws. Their scrubby sides are thick with such ancient, grey species of kindling as follow laws
inscribed in larval marks on peeling trunks. They softly swoon amid peals of bell-birds, an aural liquor that may make you drunk. You steer your big machine by cautious thirds
up the road to Cunninghams Gap; past that, you shoot through the tablelands, retracing passes forged by hardy knaves who worked flat-chat to fashion them into the bones we sing.
The squatter’s curse was once lord of the realm, a safer pair of hands at nature’s helm.
Matthew da Silva was born in Brighton, Victoria, and grew up in Sydney. He has Bachelor of Arts and Master of Media Practice degrees from the University of Sydney and lived for just under a decade in Tokyo. He has two adult children and lives in Sydney.