I’ve been hurt | but I don’t want to hurt back | I want to love people | And a desert sun | like her candour | very bare | exposed to the last places | no terra incognita | but all we see before us | still there | still gone | Perhaps that Peter Pan Motel | was in Las Vegas | it would make more sense? | or | as much sense? | Letting the moth out | from under a glass trap | of tumbler floored with postcard | into the late March air | dusk | Her voice is | fragile | though it holds | up much weight | in publications such as | Vogue Girl Korea, Ache Magazine, and Vision Magazine | a gorilla sun | more in common | with the sense of fire | the gripping of the burning truck | from the inside | exploding outwards | as the fuel tank blows | The room is | cluttered | with mainly useless things | old things | worn-out things | unwanted things | too many things | it seems | to make a start on | getting rid of them | and though you’re young | you already belong | to history | like when you | threw the javelin at school | or found yourself alone with Peter J. | and the dumb | unspeakable | quiet | after the track | had ended | and the fizzy | glitter of the static | had vaporized | like an | impractical material | now mainly used | in maritime and aviation applications | An attack sun | a gunship sun | an opponent | on the chrome and steel | and carbon fibre | and the street restless | with people wanting | to hurt you | are you turning into | the end of their war? | Love is | powered by a heart-echoing | big kick drum | for you | a hot sun | even at dawn | outside the chalet | love is | a lot of going nowhere for you | why won’t it | get there? | And the sun | and love | and the shadows | attendant | you try to | turn away | from the pulled guns | and the smack and ruin | it will take time | like anything | it will take time | but for a while | you’ll live in it | this hollow | hole | in the day | this weirdly familiar | dot | in the terra | incognita | this sum of remainders | this iridescent | snare | this conundrum | but even the people | I try to love | they turn out | hurt | And then | the sun

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from the series fp2 (on-going sequence of poems, commenced 2016)

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