global

an idiot as judged by the shadow

of friends derek scalds the coffee.

the loudest car-stereo in the town-

ship exists as an echo, like, when

you liked me more (bees adrift on

other winds, intrigues, window-

framed) wanting to see things want-

ing to hear yes i’ll step on a grass

thorn & it’s before: he’s missing that

more / unflagging interest & the

imagined look about the eyes,

forever inquiry, prettily flecked

& filtered, instances of saying any-

thing. oh i’d do anything while

scratched & opened (looking

forward to the wine uncorked

before the party impulse fogging

your attentive nod) for you i

changed the icon sick of looking

at my own face. what is falling

in love when it’s typed & bare /

so this is the contemporary edit.

anyway new guidelines for calm:

are you there? a mess of interaction,

historically (derek thumbing for

sentiment in the thesaurus) & now

i don’t want to wait. in the glow of

a device maybe a pitch change

to indicate the winding up,

the daft progress of sleep.

exposure

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added drama nothing ends or

begins the pan-browned burn-

off haze merging with that

roiling bulk of cloud over

my right shoulder angles

in a tightening circle

 

thought: speechless loving segments of

hill / half gold half black (momentary)

it’s the effort at being forgettable

 

wrote: what’s going

on & where are you

unsealed

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there lost in the riot of my own stupidity,

red & beating while the engine cools

& the sunset fucks off: nothing

 

is ever about a shared experience. such perfumes

jostle for position in ‘memory’, the concept album.

you could smell it the factory was value-adding

 

on cue the barometric pressure drops & you,

so beautiful when captured, even with gaze

averted, a preternatural model of engagement:

 

she sits on a bench an illustration of being alive.

stop sign graffiti as local route marker – my senses

specific & always at fault, giftwrapped like a gift.

 

is this an ending? i’d crave more abruptness &

a three act resolution. toes to mingle under cover,

a dawson’s creek light coastal wind parting

 

your hair, a final admixture of fingertips…

all just the anecdotal padding or

sticky tape or something else.

density

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in the long grass everything is a cushion

 

i’m spread on the world & we’re an empire of plants

long butter knives from a corner-eye vantage,

jousters in service of hunger

 

the world is under your wheels

 

a static thought bubble but here i am or was,

remembering interference, names, the owner-proprietor’s

gilt font, a semi-black bra outline under that white shirt, always

 

buttoning up like it’s regimental – ascending an ascent –

steering via knuckles such a giddy & terse bracket of living

 

so my work with sound it’s more a study of walking arm-in-arm:

the anzac dogs, dogs waiting for the anzacs & thinking fine,

the courts shouldn’t let this happen, you know?

 

(the ambient potential of a startled wallaby equates to

your legs, specifically the hemline to sock gap in the context

of a fine massage ascending the calf muscle, everything

staggered, ‘incremental’ just another word for hand-spans)

 

i wish i was an escaped horse, bolting like a solo in reverse

until time pops: i’ll think of places i’ve been now,

filter shit times through a formal logic –

 

only because i’m a country girl

 

born & bred & unshod out back, the smell of rain passing

the gums, muscles loose under thumb & it’s another

pointless week spent strategising / wood gathering

 

i don’t understand my own triggers

 

facebooked my sister with it after wine but it’s nothing, & later,

in the poem you can just say ‘it rains’ in the poem

it can always be the past (the cat licked ice-cream

from my bowl, long grass drifting from it’s back)

see people are together & swaddled by cushions

& nothing, it’s only touch:

 

everything was a bit mental, mostly old people & most of them

did most of the talking (in the long grass) then the door was

drummed sharp like neck-bone-on-neck-bone…

 

rhetorical aspirations closed under the book cover

 

your hand as image it ‘smarts’ (i’m quoting myself)

remember the thin white shirt in the long grass,

i wanna know what you’re wearing, if anything

 

i’ve been saying without guile: ‘i don’t know’

& making lists (wrote: making lists) marketing

the remainder of a lousy dinner party – anyway

measurables

pretending at the bubbler, glistening

digits covered the effort of making

a fuss, your secure senses at eleven

a backdrop parody & the world

all oblongs, an odds on war in forbes

with the assimilation of hugs, daylight

savings ends in quavers of speech,

this is the colour of inversion this is reunion

or the idea of it, bucket bongs in the

cupboard & the budget reply was in

soft focus, same difference,

are we allowed to touch:

 

mood swings measured in giga-

bytes, a mental echo of past tourist

mansions, the led-lit green a dark

forehead anointment, a thing

spasmodic

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as an actor / technician under the palm tree squat

i’m obnoxious or just bad at small-talk i’m in

emotional error mostly reflective shadows

stretching to a cackle backed up in three locations

the contour of afternoon’s crosshatching

 

why you’re a captive audience times change we multiply

 

arriving exhausted but sugar-free

 

i’ll be stormy like a rum like impotent swirls after flashes

after nothing / i’m a gazelle & a hunter & a new car just

wrote to you that i wrote that, that i should stop: increased

the green saturation heavy rain beat in the shower

 

i’ll park under your fringe & camp for the view

ample-bored click at images of being worried

it’s the new complacency but i’m determined in this

2009 circa-not-certain a compliments depth charge:

i endorse you (changed that bit) she looked over the footage

 

light beats mood always anyways tea & whatever

you want & await the ok – the past like a doll unblinking

i looked prettier composed, wrote: the shot exaggerates

backs-of-heads & laptop glow, a bedroom aurora-borealis

pi

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you made it: honeyed &

husky in my eardrums & so

on time / neck-height like

all greater western theatrics

crashing in i sound guttural-

to-matter-of-fact / frame this

by bushfire remnants of twilight

traction & tradition – you are

ever orotund / you are silvery

but twofold in the dark, binaries

curved to a persistent sigh / so

conventionally un-geometric

as the waves perk tremulous

it’s a quick disconnect / flat

as earth is i’ve got no plans /

everyone cruises the land

everyone meeting halfway

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

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