things nobody cares about

my efforts to improve the keyless entry experience for passengers, to hit it hundreds of metres away unnoticed, to never be caught fishing in my pockets again / email as a multi-modal artform – the contemporary usage of passive-aggressive tone combined with a non-subtle CC / how super fast i can run! / the overall impression of my instagram feed: activity for vibrancy & humanity + landscapes for colour variation, the sense of place, i think / green eyeshadow / favourite sitting spots – the seasonal variation of the house & its best inner-locations / back-channel gossip / the amount of pillows i can arrange on my bed, the patterning & complexity / mayoral quirks / smiling vs :) / sunset studies, then night sky clarity, how nice it is to make out the milkiness of a galaxy / scrappy attempts at finding that space, a solo calm / petty competitiveness / emoji art / poems about what she’s wearing / failing to keep my mind off these things nobody cares about / the books i’m reading / social plagiarisation / a herbal tea bag over my left eye / nail polish & the cuticle re-growth, so cute / my cake making plans / lists of personal things

28 past

a double helix some wispy dna

driven into the edging / tarmac

to bike path to dirt reminders

of liminality / signs are perfect

equilateral triangles cast from

behind / perfect shadows to

disassemble underfoot /

naming things / verbless

& un-joined / running

breathing occupying



one week. mostly it’s the sounds that impress, the rumours of events that gather import as they travel in the empty house. a slammed car door. the bin wheels on concrete, a rumble that could mean anything. low voices pass in the night only one wall away. sure i was alone in that housing commission unit, that time. it was a long way back. maybe it’s the remnant of danger resurfacing. the way sound could & did mean something a little more. a break in; a stabbing; strangers at the door. it’s the flipside of peace-&-quiet, the sudden ruptures breaking a calm surface. mostly though it’s nothing. a deliberate nothing. i watch parks & recreation & read. i sleep without a reference point, without consideration, soundly. if the girls worry they don’t show it & also, if they’re resilient there’s little evidence. this is simply is the way it is. ours is a weekend life. the potential for alternate courses perhaps only exists later, in retrospect, when you’re older. had this happened / et cetera / the assignation of blame. objects remain obscenely ordered. silly. the plush toys static & a dearth of dishes. the cat trails me, knocking over mantle-piece-pieces. she paws at the frosted shower door, meowing for nothing. it angers me but i forgive pretty quickly. so much for personal qualities. she’s just lonely for that rough affection, now curtailed. i talk mainly into this void & i guess it’s ok.

location based

breezy nylons. repeating blue &

white circles, grey cottons for the

plasticitiy or nighttime imprint.

just all the fabrics since ever.

black as a shade all intimacy

& rarer, that sharp sitting pose

then a swaddling it’s unmapped

territory. stripes a crescendo

of formality, scarf as addendum

(an evening whisky with the laptop)

oh plus impractical shoes.


the sound of breathing sounded

lifeless, posted: the leaves, so,

gold-on-red / you know? peering

over the rental’s fence, intruder

in a plan b town, laneway puddle

hurdler. ‘never drive for groceries

again’. pathways for the wretched.

my future speculative rendered in oils:

head turned, a sci-fi vantage, image

triggers this abandoned account

backlog, 200 odd weeks back.


if not never then logically now. see i fill the

house when alone. like now. spectacularly

alone. thoughts + my complimentary bathrobe

+ et cetera. someone’s squatting on your first

username, a springboard for her personality,

the underscore unwitting but the cuteness

a real thing, remaining (if not never, then

logically now). the fingers of my left hand

search for a better word than ‘tingle’, a memory

more profound than the language of sense allows.

yet. i’m a ballad of avoidance – the sparkling wine

receipt so telling – & my rhyme scheme all too

predictable. if not never then tell me.

i think. either way. i can’t sleep.


tagging the images productively

seconds drained was it rain / was it

more the icicle emoji & is this

#change or a mandala

of unravelling / i’m not good

in any other format here all

disappointments stay tied-down,

under control / the poem shudders,

resists temptation, but writes: that’s not

fair / wrote: you can’t leave things out

once they’ve happened & did i

ever expect that of / the cat

only wants warmth, pushed close

to me & zadie crisps her toes

under the tv, but / left out the key

word, wore it like a mantle into

the main street, bought coke,

used the exclamation mark / so.

unplanned solid occurrences: you

met her & cared so much / you

wanted to not feel that / you

tried, couldn’t, can’t


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.


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