Rifts of purple yellow white

drench the landscape with rivulets

of lightning patterns setting ablaze

the dusty olive and spinnerfex grass.

 Petaled church bells glut over the flinted edge

beckoning the dragging body through sand and needle bark,

face half buried amongst ochre and incense, to slip a fervent gaze at

everything

Chords, handles, grips, clips, tacks and-

                                                                             I’m helium.