Hey sweetheart, hey love


am a night-time walker, I

prefer dark, dark public


the sound of the bush splitting

a grin, baked earth beneath my

walker’s feet.


A night-time walker, I

prefer outskirts around my

walker’s knees, the sound of the silken breeze.


I, a night-time walker,

am a conduit for



I am a night-time walker.

A matter-of-time walker. An

it’s-awful-but-she banshee

proffering blistering screams.


I –

a look-up walker, a lock-up

walker, a parcel of soft runnels

– am gunning my way home.

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