ear things

separate and consume.

Memories that are all stuck together like old jujubes in plastic boxes.

Now the yucky green one has gotten fused with the

yummy orange one, my favourite, but now one of six sides

of the orange one will be more green than all orange.

to boss me around

.

The pineapple slacker

The rules, the roots in criss-cross boughs.

Give me my money back, this tin

is misshapen.

Don't make a fuss, your boughs are

numbered.

Mine aren't, waiting's my only chance

for a flight out of here.

Newton forgot the Pine,

And I can't be blamed for it.

.

Chewy like mild wombat afternoons,

Chewy, like tinned carelessness,

slacker.

Twenty roots criss-cross on yellow.

Boughs of sweet nothings

Tangled in a sour hug.

person, camera