“Radiowaves”
4am draws a bath
surrounding island limbs,
nail polish the shape of foreign countries
in chipped enamel,
signalling semaphore loneliness
across lachrymose trenches –
or shipping channels,
broadcasting the old vibrations
of some thread-bare intimacy be my be my baby a star of federation
stapled brutally
to a new white flag nation,
stitched with silk cotton grief
and the forgotten belief that
e equals somethingsomething constant
at least
I can count on that can I