DRAFTadelaide stone

in adelaide 9am
february shadows
in the accom his
rapid fire bacon spits
as coffee textures grip tongues
we talk, we demand attention
we stress past, seek neoligisms
in hash-brown salt narratives
a yellow food bonanza
without a beefy grin
we're slicing each others' pink flesh
as the heat pulls hard thick sheets, thin streets
in toorak gardens, no birdsings
besides doves coo coo
and if we were iggy pop we'd have
hands in pants before breakfast
but we're not
we're in this town
this town, with beached corners
and bleached hill rationality
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