denis roche - a break between goes; vowels and erosion

“on the 20th day i say i am death.” more,
the holy gruel of the amulet poem</i> smuggled
in the suitcase just handed up into the hold
, full and seeping through the zips. thunder
rocked up. i thought shit i need to check
on earth’s savage advances, its badlands
fallow and its wandering dead where apricots
take a break where tombless death
digs in to the pea-patch makes arrests herbic—
and on and on the word being nothing.
i’m just fatigue’s disciple, it zips my eyes
as i pen beautiful curses for the laughing
neighbours raiding the esky at our fetish party,
blind to our busy hands fondling the holy
gruel of the amulet poem———————