On The Great Ocean Road


An army of sugar white moths arose in an angelic hush
Many were lost, lying on the road
Their life given for the spectacle


This land aggressively devoured
The spirit of the south reclaiming
Its enzymes of decay coating
With weapons of wind and water
Fallen arches collapse, hunting Kestrels soar
Swooping site managers who nest in dripping cliffs
And a salty air of inevitability


Scored slopes, stripped bare
We build our private citadels, banquet tables and thrones
The serfs’ flesh and bones hammered with hard nails

The growing graveyard groans


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