1 Down One/Abrupted

Sure, someday go hang but
don't end up twisted.

She gave up surrender shaved
her head was full of clippings her
hand was a pet.

Cue soft focus, bass-line blackbirds
rope-a-trope
acceleration.

Purulent victuals, goddy giddiness
just a phase
like the cynicism,
patina. You choose, I choose from
happy vs. fun… polar opposites.
Hoyden horsepower the last hope I surrendered
the reins, no argument so
flung aside the stud & strum
circumjacent this
BANG! We are all mines
& harbour simultaneous, sometimes
this project of hers goes a crotch-curling crazy.
Forget modesty & that contrail of rough taffetas you've
made it chk-chk-boom sorry this it.

Attempt is the wound
seeping ribbons
weeps of wonder.
Woken up by a Waif this very day—
distilled radiance, fantailed future.
This woman can write her own review, overtakes herself, chk.



 
Xmas Day, the Block & Leaf

Crack-Whore & Santa Claus
3rd floor, #10 & #11 'cept
no one uses crack &
now they're called sexworkers with
brassy accountants.
So much intensity 
remains human transaction.

Naturally, everyone has doubts about Santa.

Their love is nameless
amidst a great crime of sufficiency.
His skein of discard cookies. Her tissues. The fit.
She beat him with a rosella feather whip
until tickled to a state
of extreme gratitude.

Southern Sydney summer was playing up,
they joined the party downstairs at
the splendid Lardly Lord as he reigned over his
la la musicale by a stream of metal ink. 
Everyone kissed him to a cherubic slumber; 
such a lovely
great shaggy baby in his crumbspecked toga...
everything to which his neighbours could aspire.

Terry the Worker
was coloured in for the day
(but it was grey). Never said now
but plans kept out drafts in winter &
proved toxic to mosquitoes.

Children were loose on the stairway. Like Americans
they owned everything they wrecked.
More cola, they snatch at gilt while
toppling towards our rhythms of the letter.

Emily remained behind her doors. Because
something she remembered. Clarity is a pain. 
White Bastard, the Scholar with the Molar & a Gentle Lady
all went a bit crazy
while the suicidal Chef sauced up.

Santa & Crack-Whore had stuck live butterflies on their giftwraps.
Presents presented; ambulance vouchers, wheedles of wine then
kilojewels with the posse sent home. Ribbons
& choirs are scattered on white ash.
Covetous scars slink into corners.
This pancake Australiana 
a stacked, steaming village in tan brick
patrolled by half-hearted strata sheriffs & a stringent lawn.

Crack-Whore's impossibly old children
turned up in their Beemers, started acting all parental as
their happy mother cried onto Guy Fawkes' tinder.
Angry bits, lost husband & fouled up egg—
each shuffled past then disappears. It was too hot for echoes.

Beer flew from bottles. Crazed turkeys caromed
into sugary walls. Farmers call uninvited saplings woody weeds,
trees are too indigent to judge.
This is what we are - eucalyptus - burn with vigour, 
an irrepressible shambles.  Laughter & Apology 
were left to clean up the mess.

 

Formication Fridays

As someone
who was certain
in this gangrel
runaway beige
thanked them
realtors & lords
shot.

If money 
can be sharp
then I'm lost.
Ants sweetheart
(dead abnormal).

So back to please
don't pay
this wrapping
I know.

In strength
you are away
so I comprehend cold
& crash the tides.
Get away with silence,
defeat the mouth.
Shelter is a rough binary,
but it's not worth it.



More Views than Umm Like Everybody

Beer Shit has a Facebook page,
877 fans (hits the)
as in followers/aficionados say
oscillating fans are necessary
Bud mud, the brown drown
that some find exhilarating. LOL.

Add it as your friend,
do not nudge 
or poke
Beer Shit.

An Event. In a committed relationship.
The sludge tsunami
appearing somewhere under you
tickets are freely available
in white or pattern triple-ply.
This calamity
is celebrity. Notification - anyone
can play like cacky karaoke. Some say
it's important you don't eat.
Just drink,
it will come.
The flagrant fog is a conversation piece 
for those mornings when one too easily lapses
into seedy silence.

No one votes anymore. We
are all famous, loved
for nothing.

Your bowels shall set you free.
Be emptied
& ready
to begin again. 




Splash

This cicada season,
don't blink.
Yawning lawns think they're hay, all
my daylight savings have been stolen
by a fraudulent river.

Libraries close, vacate in vacation as
small balls bounce on TV. My bicycle trammels
the surquedry of fowl our whispers
are ships scrambling onto rhythms of wind. 

We sail towards failure
where songs are condign.
There's the belly laugh
as certainty slips on that time-honoured banana.
Comic is the last grace, the science of otiosity high
distinction at the edge of our extinction.
Why do I keep stuffing up?
The last speciality, an incontinence of deed
that's in our seed, the DNA.

Do Not Attribute
music is in the skipped beats
what's-his-name drops his fame
the volume shrinks
the less we think.