So far from here and yet like a moth to the flame, that alien world of drought and indifference. Where days are so bleached by light, the land is screen-burnt in my eyes at night.
An abrasive scrubland of dry wind and ultraviolet radiation; a tinderbox of accelerant and the whiff of phantom smoke; where eucalypts birthed by fire, shy from midday's sun; and browning leaves are falling but Autumn is not calling.
Out there is the Eastern Brown, and the red-striped snake and spider. Out there meat ants strip carcass to the bone and six foot rats are bipedal. Out there blow flies swarm the shade and cicadas sound like warning sirens.
Atleast there's peace out there, where people do not dare, and so like vampires we wait in lair, until the stars we can stare. Such is this summer for sinners, beware, beware, beware.