beginning again bear

watchin these trucks go by
makin my throat go dry
feelin the barbecue sickness
this cancer cloud over us
I'm rattlin round the back of this ute
my masculinity burtstin
a brutal blue pill frenzy not the red pill terrorism
I've shot my share of loads on lounges
over all your optimus transformer
a prime beef reformist - I'm fatter than angus
rounder than a bank manager's anus
I'm sittin in this chair but floatin on the ceiling
these mushroom dusters kickin in like heeling
camel seedlings in wheatbelt regions
wishin sage was a tradie
shouldn't listen to the bleeding
I'm a youtube junkie
yr a facebook monkey
a cyber sex function
beginning again
begin again
begin again
again
bear

I'm a pop-up shadow puppet
a ghost in the paddock - fuckit
bones of foxes and feathers here tell stories
a narrative of dreamers
but the weather keeps hittin
nothing better than squatting here
after breakfast bacon hot coffee and smoking
dug this hole just deep enough
to fit my human waste
I'm not brave enough to build a shower
wait days to hit the public bar
and shout shit at the flannos
the reffo-hating spanners
beginning again
begin again
begin again
again
bear

and I'm getting vertiginous
needing 10 beers to get near the finish
I can't finish this - how can I finish this
can somebody help me
kill this poetry - let me finish this - let me finish this
struggle over the wandoo sheoak
my stick not big enough, wide enough
to please the blokes
anyway I was fucking this bloke
it was a reach-around - a hip n shoulder
to the ground like a full-forward on the run
at 25 metres out - a mark on the goal square
I'm strugglin to hit the line
before I need to begin again
beginning again
begin again
begin again
again
bear

and this thing is not a picnic
my life is is not a jpeg or a ping pic
an xbox joystick
not a vimeo page
not a guest spot on rage
wish I was back on the paddock
smashing trees in the ripline
not drillin for words like peak oil philosophy
not eatin stale sandwiches
wishin I was the masterchef
servin up treble clefs
plating up poetry
and and and
beginning again
begin again
begin again
again
bear

this must be the end
this must be the end
it is

manufactured treated compounds

card hard against my flesh
micro hair-scrape cross my chest
a plastic history - an echoic festival
i'm molded n melted, stiff n shifted
wading thru this sea of idiots
in a ben hur chariot
having a my bad moment
thrown into the wastebin
clutchin my coin-purse of 3 cent pieces
listenin to the compounds
resonators are my sisters
interpret the systems
waiting
for the
football

sending spicatums

casting hot sandwiches
at unplanted paddocks again
a ritual of sorts

an offering to the unexplained dirt

nine point three hectares each here
in that sunfucked beach block

the spikes of natives stab shins
and we stride blind
thru thistle forest mounds

okagee dust now lungbutter
tomorrow the mogumber plains
another wet beer story

then we sink like wheat bags
in the rodeo upholstery

and in rancid groups
of grass-seeded socks
we sell blood for these nuts

the yellow rock mocks those pissing cows
are they bigger than utes?

we're settled now, in packets of five
in boxes of caravan food
round the fetid carcasses

seeking a shade

a sign

from
her

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…