my friend Jackie lives outside ballarat, outside smeaton, at the edge of allendale, in the palace of wonders

my friend Melissa went down into the flood and emerged from the black with small square illuminations printed on the inside her shutters

my friend Kir works two donkey jobs but refuses to sell to the pratts

jesus turned water into wine but my friend Eliza turns cardboard into wheat, gardens and a yellow submarine

my friend Kathryn is master alchemist mixing chemical-free agents to clean her client’s houses, while her agent launches a shiny new book of her pics in new york

my friend Gabrielle works around the clock each september to capture the wild, reckless, profligate excesses of spring

my friend Rachael speaks the language of birds. a raven prince fell in love with her. in the autumn sunlight, she serenades him with her guitar

my friend Elly was given a $5000 advance to write a book on death because she is funny. she still hasn’t returned

if the titanic was sinking Babs would be dancing. when we are drinking i am the laughter from every seat in the playhouse

my friend Annie writes poems under a graveyard of bones. she wins every prize she enters. mostly she forgets to submit

my friend Estelle has vision that stretches to the edges of the known world. for now, she takes medication to keep her sight on the tasks of the day. for her, nothing is impossible

my friend Martine started an independent publishing house because apparently the market doesn’t like lyricism in children’s books

my friend Eugenia eats prima donnas for breakfast. she rolls them along concrete, grassland and the red carpet. she shakes honesty out of the pockets of the earth

my friend Sarah lives 3 lives in 1. if she were a cat she would have 27 deaths. for art, she needs every single one

I am writing this poem.