September
stares towards Antarctica: ice shelf breaks, volcano discoveries, sea rises.
What is black humour, anyway? Banned from in-flight movies, a staple of Dodgy Alley
theatre. Waves lather the beach. Surfers stare from their car-wheels at the
chaos of reef: nothing today. Erosion walls relocate towards the caravan park.
Affronting the surf live saving club, sandbags hold against tides. Wye River
abandons its serpentine exit, cuts to sea the shortest way. Winter and old
fires let landslides loose into seaslides. Lapwings swoop the comedians who
wander thoughtless across nesting grounds. Waves cover sand repeatedly, like
every film you’ve ever seen.
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