easter

friday: waiting for chocolate and jesus to die

they're here

can you see em? they're here…

in the thick black bold wide font, they're here
there's full page evidence of this in the typeface
and yet jesus appears here too in this gale
in hazy grains of this ancient jetty timber
the groaning weight of 78
exquisite scarves rotting at the beaches
this uniform is a navy blue shopping spree
a basket full of eggs and pizza and chips

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

i can taste the silver salt of christ on my mind
on my chocolate shapes at this time
and at these rocky atolls
they sharp tack at the back of beached reefs
and the remnant moorings, the trolleys
wasted in christmas wrapper heat
a gift of fear in empty carparks

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

theyre here - these kids of kids, these terrorists
this pack of subliminal dissidents in the torchlight
this black candle wax drips thru my fingers
burning their rusty clothed distractions
as the hailstones hit the cliffs
the subtle punch from the hack
as the paper screams
theyre here theyre here theyre here

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

we sell them at the ends of streets
as they huddle like dog-whistlers
speaking the troubles thru munted verses
and bastard melody
like chiddy-chiddy calls in the early sun
these beams cast streaks on staccato rabbits
headed back to tunnels, this my dirt, my bitumen,
my multiplex - 27 stories, bending light like discrete, indivisible units of energy
unless these kids are invisible
quite like the hopeless peace we chant
unachievable unachievable unachievable

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

theyre here theyre here theyre here
in the backyards of lawn and renovation
we count the coins in bonded isolation
in the deserts we gather to tear at fences no more
these islands written by keys
these sandcastles melt of irrational fear of the other
and another hasty sentence punctuated
with race hate noise

and we struggle with the jerry can drag across the sand
all the matches wet in the fist of my hand

them - they - they are they
they are here - they are here
they're here - they're here - they're here

and we struggle…

city and the sex

and yet beneath this womb
she can breathe smoke at last
a circle of steaming blood

more reason for riding tall
in short skirted manifestos

instead we count sheepskin pleats
and trot into her, blithe hems

you dig, feel beyond germaine skin
throw boot on tactile shovels

and history spoils our graves
to seek mastheads with tongues
like emma goldman

doodling at the fringes
with hatchets and axes
to bury and grind
in this lingerie cyclone

this month
another frilly tome
next
another shaved narrative

for him

iwd:

chicks here best grow crystals
from shiny, shaven skin
perfect sweat beads
like neon
or oil.

pacing stiletto satellites,
trimmed arms.

her dishes form curry crust.

3.5 million plucked from tv stardom
hoisted to the yoghurt nest,
a cultural norm
of all our spare penises

a grand piano of her enemy teeth
and this nappyscape
a pungent memoir
a day care manifesto

we breath diesel
and sell it

she says

soundwave pickup

1800 billion or so
a mass daze swagger
a bassendean exit

30+ in 11PM carparks
surge @ red rooster rendezvous
the fuzzy-neon rush-blare of faith no more
& 4WD singlet traffic

the stench of rancid
waste toward tonkin
@ beldon mcdonalds
the burger is half pounder
a dozen yellow nuggets

our drive-thru boy
refuses to remember
the primary circle

the diff shifts in clunks
there is no doctor

a facebook status poem (420 characters only)