Clade Song 12 left

Clade Song 12

Cabo Polonio

A morning’s sweet, windless limp,
a young grey life ends in a crease
ringed by crimped grit.

Later: petals crammed between jubes of succulent.


The shelf’s split to the crux.
The terms are lax, despite their bleeding iron.
An outcrop’s lumpen strewn
echoes buried cerebrum, recalls an Incan-
Polynesian construction, a tectonic weave
in a clear, floating egg.


Soon the cries arrive, hit the rim,
smooth slab stuffed with lightning, but shucked
slick drains
out to pasture.

Or a lichen melange, a chorus of damp blubber
and their chubby pups,
then a seagull’s lone, snowy point:

the sign of death is a limp neck.


Back of that heap there’s a sunset
but what don’t we know of it?
Its broken box, its tilted meadow.
A rock’s pulse dries into arcs
of gravel graphics.
The lichen tips:
the roof tipping into mustard—

gleaming terracotta sleds below the surface,
torn geometries fuse into glitchy sentence.

Clade Song 12 Right
Stuart Cooke is an Australian poet and critic. His latest books include the poetry collection Lyre (UWAP, 2019) and a translation of Gianni Siccardi's The Blackbird (Vagabond, 2018), and he is the co-editor of Transcultural Ecocriticism (Bloomsbury, 2021). A new chapbook, Land Art, was recently published (Calanthe, 2022). He lives in Brisbane, on Turrbal country, where he lectures in Creative Writing and Literary Studies at Griffith University.  



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