As the sun climbed heavenwards he climbed up through his dreams and climbed out of her bed and
climbed out of her window to the vine that climbed the house and climbed the stairs that climbed
the path that climbed the ridge that climbed the crooked mile and climbed the crooked stile that
climbed a crooked fence as the spider climbed its web.
A crooked sixpence, and the possum full of wry wee will he wink he runs through the town, looking
for his gown.
He climbed into the car that climbed the road that climbed the hill that climbed the peak that
climbed the clouds that climbed the sky that climbed the rainbow and fell down and down the
raining the pouring the car the web the clouds the hill and broke his crown on the end of her bed
and wriggled and wriggled and wriggled inside her.
I guess he’ll die.
Terence Rissetto
I am of Maori descent, with Danish, Italian and English thrown in the mix. My background includes a degree in Existential Philosophy, working as a psychiatric nurse in Australia, and a career as a public servant. I woke up from a self-induced coma of 25 years when I heard a Bukowski reading and thought it was Kevin Spacey before he became Lester Burnham. My work attempts to show there are other realities and other ways of looking at them. You can reach me at oystercatcher210@gmail.com.
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