Jesus Lane
Past the waffle joint on Jesus Lane, grease still sizzling in the air like a cheap tart— two black cabs tangled up like drunks after last call, front ends kissing metal on metal. Some skinny bastard on a bicycle did it, clipped one and kept pedalling into the dark, ass disappearing down a side street
The Drought
Perverse, powerless, swelling in your barns, fruit and produce, blight and mildew. And on the land, the cattle fall. Frustration, sworn to soil and dust, the sand beneath you burning, the seasonal rain, nowhere and deserting, there is no cure. the rose vineyard, totally devastated, by ruin and madness.