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‘Meditation One’ Jayne Fenton Keane Every line is history. Every line is porous and full of mutes. ‘Meditation Two' Jayne Fenton Keane Longer than exhalation is the time you have to reconsider your hand as it prepares to scratch the itch on the end of your nose. Such small things fill a day. ‘Calm’ Jayne Fenton Keane Calm. He said be calm. Her love chaotic. Synapsis melt over deformed clocks. Tongues deliberately avoid truth. Terror is an unrequited stalker. Truth is anything but somnolen calm. All this in a kitchen of overflowing pans. Tiny hammers tinker between hearts Through the kitchen window, a bushfire. ‘Poem for a Hangover’ Jayne Fenton Keane A hydroid wakes. Cells hold parties while you sleep. At the end of the night you wake wondering who kidnapped your body while you were sleeping. There's a shark rising in your thoughts. Your tongue evolves into an amphibian on the verge of extinction. Pretty in paralytic sleep, your dreams are full of reptiles. Spent the night shedding skin, snapping splints out of wishes. Running on the spot for antivenom. Your lips are wrinkled fingertips your eyes are two frightened puffer fish pricking in the dark, prickling through high kicks. Hold your breath. Hold each other. Peer out from under the sheets. Call in the hairy dog.

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