held

i drove through the night with nothing

else to think about / the speed-trap zone

into cowra & a massive roo stands counting trucks,

mulling over the headlong leap into something /

your overbite is now a varicose watermark

to my neck, this temporary tattoo appliqued

with a steady hand though, each tooth

a bright pinpoint of intent / rear-view mirrors

reveal the past or the future they just don’t

care i mean / watch my thinking dissolve

into a silly night-time daydream fusion &

there are outcomes dotting the sky, each

meteor shower line directing touch /

then / my cat angry at the lit window /

photos of you into the morning

castles

kind of linking up your intensity even tho

it’s subject to being chill: can we please anyone?

six lines such abject bullshit: you tell me how to touch you

 

it’s enough of a new thing (& no you don’t have to do it now)

 

i walked out of my childhood house aching

for the hour home, to talk again

liable

falling sick is falling into a pleasant & easy air of detachment. for a change i can drive to work without dwelling, mulling. realising ten minutes after the fact where i’ve been at. the flu seems to occupy some careful part of my brain that won’t leave the past or future alone, in perhaps a more effective way than prescription drugs. memory still exists but it’s elided, the substance of the footage slides into a mild haze, a wispy & dreamy slush pile of thought. the seasonal body invasion that is, yes, surely ‘going around’ leaves me free to operate at a slightly elevated level, above normal consciousness, observing the circular drift of cloud & the illusion of cold air paralleled in the sky’s colours, or something. i photograph it all – keeping my left hand on the wheel – & later edit for sharing. but the best bit is that an unexpected lapse in my hand’s steadiness creates an extra roil, an enhanced cloud curlicue. i go with this as a metaphor for something i haven’t discovered yet (like the people who like beautifully rendered slices of motivational text in a 1:1 ratio image, but who also like ironic commentaries on motivational text) everything is accidental, inconsistent, meaningless. but nevertheless beautiful & poignant. because why not. we catch a vision out of the corner of our eyes & hold onto it. something as simple as a shaft of ice blue sky against the late-early morning cumulus. or, particularly impractical shoes, a freeze-frame from behind, captured but untagged in someone else’s album.

forget i mentioned it

brad is an apprentice pilot &

the weather is perfect then

the instruments return an unusual reading

how is outback life anyway

 

does distance bother you i feel like

it’s only measurement like seatbelt hacks

for the bored passenger / the transit

experimenter derek left the conversation

 

read my/his friends critically removed you

critically, friendly-ly, an extreme-pronoun-reader

under lamplight is this a fictional place

if so how does it link with the real do people

ever talk of other places like how to get

to this place from this real place

 

what is my understanding of things

how is my memory made how many people

will you sleep with is this a life will there always be

more questions is it all about this dodgy register

pinning you to action enforcing a time-spend

on being effective

 

empathetic fuckboys clustered in the gloom

else lithe otters unconcerned with the viewers

60% of the time everything is true & a real problem

& dumb & i’m always ready for strato-cumulus

but other vapour variations surprise me like you

so pretty linking arms as a barrier in the pre-mist

 

pooling bffs into barriers into psycho-geography

we’re hardly immortal just worn out a bit at

an induction meeting listen it’s the silver kettle blues

& time doesn’t feel inexorable enough not never

ever (i’ve got complaints with momentum too)

 

gravity waves are bitchy roadblocks

just barriers & you have to lean into me so

i can hear the things else i can’t

write & what’s the point i mean

just stopped, still

hey while i eat lunch & scroll the feed

does it feel convincingly scripted or idk

yep i plan for the future like i’m an animation

alex called it persisting with the words again

coining life tho i mean is it hard to avoid

entire places? curious marks on my hand:

some fragments the mystery of the to-do list

lost three days of heat & sweat in that

far-western hotel obliterated most stuff but

what does any recurring pattern identify?

dreamed of your kids staring glumly over at me

over across an olympic pool & how is your dog

anywayz it’s all season endings artificial tears

as actors wrap up emotions under this veil of

storyline i’d see the broken stubby glass

an entryway of charm the city is just

a viewing platform carpeted with dead

branches & a sappy view only the native

garland lilly stays hidden & prolific sustained

my expression of interest the logic &

logistics of the fb local gossip page here

i’m general manager of robots in the sun

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