Gavin Austin

Flux

the honeycomb
weave 
of a hospital blanket

stitched blues

I have no idea what is wrong with me. It comes in waves. I stare at the Emergency Room floor. Grey and blue vinyl tiles begin to meld, swirl and drift. They are waves lapping at my feet. A rippling surge rises and creeps closer. Between two tides, I wait, exposed on a rockshelf ledge. I want to dive in, to disappear. Coolness is calling. Something is calling. The waves rush in. The sweep, swell and wash of motion. Four arms grip me as I am about to break the surface.

deeper

the pretty things

found on a seafloor

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About the Author

Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. He writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.

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