A Tuesday with Two Heads

a cable of noise hangs limply    |  tangled in a tree above the path to my door
common birdsongs             |  a gramophone screened beneath a light green veil

a hungry ear                         |    roosts like a wet bird
old photographs lie about happiness  |     an ageing satellite flares upon re-entry

a phone’s persistent call              |        overhead a streak of phosphorous


limply hung, a cable  of noise     | overhead, a tangle of copper
birdsongs common   |        a gramophone scarred by old love songs

off the cage a green veil slips   | the cocked ear of a wet bird
your fading sepia smile    |   cobalt woos a satellite’s dissolving shield

your pupil, barbiturate and sunny |   shadows starkly stretch, oxidize.

Jayne Fenton Keane

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