premix

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,

all the sweet new designer accolades

how many people could you confidently

confide in, a serious question under hard

light, pose it / i fixed everything

this time yesterday then swung violet

full-circle a turn of merriness / i saw

your house stolid where it’s always

pinned picketed augmented / bae!

& so this is thought / birch trees dead at

minor drought’s first rumour / you laugh

but are sad with your human drives / silly

this time today & i prefer to negotiate the

vascular irregularity of my own eyes / wrote:

waxed on sunset tones & marbling or

something / were they talking about me

behind hands? that’s so overdone/ a cutting line

that includes ‘whatever’ because of reasons:

it’s an industry event we continue to achieve but

much else so

i’m a cheek press or lips whetted

decisions in a look framed by chambered

footfall now tradesmen talk about fucking

loud after 10pm at the steakhouse back-

window i’m all of these things at 2pm

& i notice what you do: this emerald month

this broken attention-span my body not

quite compact – anti-desirable &

awkward under a double rainbow

the petrol light threatens the radio

stressed locality & you’re so sensible

a one-track thematic here, i thought

the sensation might fade with time

like so much else so wrong

4.48

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a hive. sentences on tumble. applemint tea.

thought contracting. a paperclip drought. gillian

anderson. naming things / hunger. i’m sipping

perhaps. removing all online traces of ‘professional’.

the word. i still want to go for that walk with you.

 

a grassed field & all the clouds like yesterday, like

today. pretense & variation too slight to observe.

let’s observe with our naked eyes.

 

i’m factual when viewed from the park. or by slatted

blind-light over-the-shoulder. i cut my own hair. silly.

life is shorter than ever. everything asked with an

interrobang. totally un-mawkish. how are you?

should i be focussed on voice now. undertones.

i’m a struggling small business. every other

person, a better option than me.

IOS

a five-point circuit of chlorinated refraction
time vault against nimbus tufts palming
your blonde bob & this coiffured absence
we’re all psychic all poisonous 50m laps
the tendency to repeat gestures i’m itching
into verbs & mood-swings in the afternoon
you’re narky i’m tired you’re pretty then
wrote: it’s made-for-television
but for the endless complexity on moonrise
hey i’m extending my thighs like a plagiarist
non-tagged it’s effortless some bearded
model of the badlands specifically t-shirted
on-pointe for planned selfless roaming

infinity-plus-one

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lamplight pinned to the setting day’s pantone code

just for me & every time is a new time this open swamp

full of walkers is glass-half-empty stupid

 

handcuffed imagine your own routines as if there’s scope

or room to move cicadas answer the torturer ad i mean

no doubt all animals are lonely what do you feel like

when you’re tired? more beginnings

 

at reception looking left past the hair of the girl

like it’s me there (time flickers the bulbs fucked

it’s february (reminder: gallery at 10 (all interaction

leaves a psychic imprint a wine stain in the air

 

swans paired outside the window paperbark

in the foreground you don’t care still

more questions proving everything to your sister

nestle in that space over & above the closet

 

i’ll wind the windows down struck all 80s reflective:

the slight downy refraction over your left ear: a thing

 

then noticing anything is hard a bird it slams into

the plexiglass another girl coughs idk yeah no it’s

those scars left open at the local pool unabashed &

it’s the maccas coke the skin & the veins underneath

plus it’s being teased it’s getting stressed

where do you stand on cuteness where

 

i jumped at the black snake preoccupied

with that gold cresting the palms back there

trying to frame a description using words for later

but taking off socks blasts it away & our own

communication forum persists also a thing

 

then it’s headlights & 20-20 sight within mid-week air

i’m just a part-time molecule agitator

 

read subject-line-less emails in the gloaming to birdsqueal

girls or shadows persist powerwalk in pairs

a crazy hexagonal route lit by lightning

maddening polyrhythms

 

my lack of focus

#running

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scored a first-person-shooter movie tie-in

before bed. remember coffee, txt or bravado

fronting stone architecture (design still the

buzzword)? & blood. the scent of aqua still

drips like breath from an oversized sketch-

book. derek is a volunteer firefighter in his

spare time. as the historical events of

‘the deliberate quiet’ unfold, events that are

still so recent in our minds, his rampant anxiety

also revealed. what is letting go? what is anything.

most dovetailed cabinet joints remind us of grandma,

a pure engagement with the popgun, a boy’s own

annual, linoleum tiles ever cooling. this summer,

fear has a name (& we are middle class enough

to know it). 9.50 this morning you looked timeless

in digital – the dog playing its role, the north so

green. but the look of my own face, a sheer cheap

cereal complexion. there’s always later or never.

hello haven for symbols. now, i’ll write you:

a runaway tank 360-skidding my name out on

flush wet concrete, tomorrow, it says it all.

flat sunrise

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this the midday cone of water & your grin

a translucent fizzle underneath, prepped &

captured, neutrinos complicit in a perky array

of circumstance. nice.

 

was this the first year without resolve?

 

after learning everything via movie dialogue

i complied the send times of your emails:

mapped out a curvaceous graph line,

rendered it eye-colour green for the reports,

there are no other topics normal friends discuss.

 

whatever. a battle of memory-maps – that merge right

sign becomes that rock-face becomes the bay –

purposeful turn-offs waves of liquid image: sorry!

i’ve wasted all my good compliments. zadie was

jumping at the swell of new things, expansive

in the wind, scenery. i only really think long-form

while driving then attempt a recapture.

 

wrote: so much for not hurting people then re-

thought the sentiment. the expression. deletions

a new form; ageing is just the gradual discovery

of more pain. it’s exciting if nothing else.

 

i felt irritated in my dream with a bank of hazy cloud

blocking the early light. twice eighteen now less

worried, sometimes, with the bellbird bell a weird

sforzando marker. the crackle of a stick & side-boob

from afar. he was able to say ‘before you were born’

like it mattered (with those oncoming storm clouds).

 

your tone of voice frays & i’ll read more into that later.

an interlude of sorts, time for thinking in whole sentences,

chunks of data flowing near the amenities block but sketchy

otherwise, a toothpaste residue always in the mud.

 

has anyone ever had it this hard? lighthouse keepers,

socialites, tech experts, ex-pats.. finally listened back

over the new monologue: learnt, mastered, spat.

wrote

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bit nervous to the dried-out basil

plant’s tremble, a thick stream

from the tap after the away

festivities, speckled glass a mirror

on your responsible life. no

expectations under the nipple-

height shower head, your non-

adjustable responses weirdly

irreducible, silly even, the

magnetised bitchaz framed

riverside by your coccyx. not

out of the picture but dead

center of a decade, atop

the water-tower working

images into lies & i mean:

you sweep aside some iris-like

leaves, deftly frozen green.

seriously good

our terms of engagement have altered & now

you’re that beatles song but all slowed down

& done by joe cocker, with saxophone

& syrupy bass floating from a cathedral

 

oh sure, i’m taking on a studio polish too i admit

& there is no bootleg gravel cushioning our arses

no raw glass: edge of the overpass goodtimes

 

but at least i’m no obscure & unknown artist

& so now it’s all no problem or can be;

built into a well-crafted electronica riff

we will gyrate in rehearsed frenzy, sparkling,

 

as being easy-listening festive attains cool

 

(first published in Meanjin vol. 65 no. 3 – September 2006)

whatever

twenty-three hours ago bleeds to

twenty-four it’s effortless & i’m losing this

 

imagine me my own midlands doppelgänger

employing the bright white of a mobile inbox

to navigate every darkened bathroom

 

swarthy life in the oak leaves past

these blinds & it’s only pointless video

to accompany the tradesmen

 

caught out referencing real people you

retreat into the more inert visuals

though slightly trembling & roiling

the leaves might be aroused, full of intent

 

possibly nothing will ever stand up now

after a subtle shade of lipstick & corner of

floral dress, eleven hours post-impress

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