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Rippling Hill
 
innovators, swing from 
gum of rainforest trees, 
we're thinking here of
monkey men, I question the
druthers of 

motion monkeys,

and then I'm using their stuff,

taking spare parts away,
as if I live here,
indef,

the omnipotent bookcase is full of death,

who needs the dust?
I stick my nose to the window,

with the 
key the
cleaner 
rearranges,
substitute 
that photo
for this,

in turn 
Moirai,
and the kiss of the constellations.

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