is there anything on me that doesn't speak?

joan of arc follows me around australia

i hear her voice in my head

and catch bits of nature in my mouth: rotting leaves

bird shit

mud

flood water

i can smell what's there on the inside

oslo

march: quiet

words enter me from everywhere

in brisbane in december it was rain

the rain was still rain

we couldn't hide from it

i sought comfort between supermarket shelves and in cafes

but the water followed us everywhere

the water followed us everywhere

and we put on the fan in the hotel room

and it sounded like a shower

possessed

my leather shoes crumbled

fabrics unravelled around our bodies

my skin breathed in and out

i woke in the night to hear our pores heave

i was a thousand little mouths

a thousand baby birds

eggs hatching

skin breaking

i ran my hands over my body to hush them

i cut my finger nails and cut off their beaks

is there anything on me that doesn't speak?

is there anything on me that doesn't speak?

one night i spat in my sleep during the daytime

i kept everything in

smoking cigarettes to dry

a struggle inhaling in your honour

my body is an effigy

a hearth of some kind

i reach for the lighter

flames rise and press against my lips

when i speak i hear your voice and catch

twigs and pieces of coal in my mouth

when i speak i catch your disease