Liz Worth - Mirror Motion

Desire: unity through the crust of agony,
a pinprick of discord.
You wake with a headache and I eat too fast,
rush the light, the room already war in the sun.
Outside, a man vomits on the grass,
heavy gut hanging over his waistband.
I struggle for a perfect sentence, count sleepless benches,
sores on rows of unwashed ankles.

We are post-union, blanched syllables in a broken frame,
mirror motion bleached to brittle measures.

Move fast. Harmony stutters in the laneways, waiting.