You wake up in the morning
And fall out of your bed
Mean cats eat parakeets

And this one's nearly dead.
You dearly wish the wind would shift
And greasy windows slide

Open for the parakeet
Who's colored bitter lime.


Open the window
And lift into your dreams
lately, baby

you can barely breathe.

A broken wrist

An accident
You know that something's wrong
You fold the leavings of your past

No one knows you've gone.
The sunspot flares of the early
Nineties light up your wings.

And scan the shotwave radio
It's tracking outer rings.


The tectonic dispatcher shifts
To smooth the ocean floor
And flattens out to warmer winds

Of Brisbane's sunny shore.
Where Buddhas tend to mending wrists
A tea made from the leaves

Of eucalyptus fragrances
And coriander seeds.


You wake up in the morning
To warm Pacific breeze
Where mean cats chew on licorice

And cannot climb the trees.

Open the window

And lift into a dreams
Baby, baby
Baby starts to breathe.