For the late Sue Dixon

Nothing happens by accident;

desire is design, down to Persian rugs

on the bare boards of innocence

and a corner temple

in this turned corner, turned temple,

at which you daily worship

and give thanks for cankers conquered

and those given up.

 

Here are symbols stripped bare,

the peripheral and the weak discarded

on a journey which will ultimately carry no baggage;

a journey to purely selfish ends

so you can return to us for chosen company.

 

Your very madness permeates this space

(for you are mad to do this, you know).

Your rampant, wilful idiocy,

(unleashing forces temporal and spiritual)

mind and senses unchained,

run minor riot here

bouncing off walls, laser-like,

piercing and burning out creeping reason.

 

I don’t know the woman who lives here yet

but one thing is clear.

She’s got kangaroos in her top paddock

and she no longer cares to excuse

their demanding behaviour

or their menacing demeanour.

In fact,

I’ve seen her feeding the little devils.