Bakery Rant

and here we are now in this baked convergence of brittle bodies
in this sacred place of deliberate rock and new-skool artifice
all the red-dirt business and radical glitter and bronze medals
of apathetic bravery, this metaphor to the corporate slavery

we're waving hands at a vainglorious nebulous democracy
the birthright of a billion losers - we're shocked at this
and we raise our many skinny fists at the thick dead sky
at this global moment - a fascinator, a tool, a distraction
an excuse not to wake, not to imagine another world
is possible, here - in this room - right here right now

lets ride the waves - lets catch the sun
lets sell the house - lets buy a gun
lets hit the street - lets shift the mode
lets touch our skin - do it in the road
lets rip at the fence - lets hammer the walls
lets kick at the door - lets get insured
lets fix the thing - lets shout at god
lets eat the dead - lets wake up wake up

we run, we run, we run and hide our money in turgid mattresses
of economic disparity without thought for the battle-cry
of colour and heart and guts and flyers, flyers, flyers for change

yes we slice these kids into ribbons of confusion
with no recognition for the guerilla manifestos
and yr mental condition an addiction to the death:
another house, another car, another card, another grave

we give our resource pleasure to the man in the deserted places
with no recourses for the buried bodies
the trees - the rocks - the sand - the wind - the rush of wealth
of mouthfuls of money money money…

lets ride the waves - lets catch the sun
lets sell the house - lets buy a gun
lets hit the street - lets shift the mode
lets touch our skin - do it in the road
lets rip at the fence - lets hammer the walls
lets kick at the door - lets get insured
lets fix the thing - lets shout at god
lets eat the dead - lets wake up wake up

hey hey hey, lets dig a hole for the two-three-eight,
the two-three-eight, the two-three-eight…

lets drape this million-year old concrete flag over the bones
of my mouth, of yr mouth
of his and hers matching flag tattoos
on the scarborough shores we fight and flex,
kick sand in the faces of each other
and render all those less patriotic than us
on this beach - under this footpath - a river once ran
the slogan shit of kiss the flag or die
fuck off we're full

of racist cowards

not sittin on the fence - I'm tearin it down
not grabbin at the wretched throat of this town
not reachin for the end - of this radical sentence

lets ride the waves - lets catch the sun
lets sell the house - lets buy a gun
lets hit the street - lets shift the mode
lets touch our skin - do it in the road
lets rip at the fence - lets hammer the walls
lets kick at the door - lets get insured
lets fix the thing - lets shout at god
lets eat the dead - lets wake up wake up

antipoet - allan boyd
november 6, 2008

performed as 'sacrificial poet' at the WA final of the National Poetry Slam

also read by subaware with blac blocs following the slam...