turned off lately your raucous Babylon radio piercing
black-noise redneck half truths, having found therein
no historical, poetical or otherwise significant music
lacking I suppose the smiling I've made it
celebrity high-profile hip

turned off lately the vibrant, sensory feast
of geographically sustainable performance art
fully catered of course
(how else to get the buggers there)
exploring the diversity of orchestral hubcap landscapes

later we were treated to a white ute duet
spinning in a vortex of dust and diesel fumes
back-dropped by theatrical shadows and
shafts of light that cleverly highlighted
falling latex koalas

turned off lately within a cooee of hope
having let go childhood's broken toys
thirsty in hardship brawny arm
around her wisp of a frame
somehow the universe still functions
but who really cares?
just pass to the biscuit tray will ya.

a rush of voices fell on solid ground
knew before glancing skyward; magpies
noticed the door-frame that I'd hung yesterday
a ripple of satisfaction - but easily dismissed
keep thoughts to minimum, a certain toughness
knowing the longevity of pumps

climb now the sun stroked hill
to coffee and toast, the day measured
not allowing the phone or knowledge
to intrude before lunch, but rather stay
slightly off balance broach the curved parameters
to rise and perhaps fail in unexpected ways.

authenticating... is this on?
dot dash dash are you receiving... BigDog
gnawing bone malcontent sluts eye man-boys sitting pretty all lithe
tanned vacuous smiles name your price broken sleep strewn across
dyslexic landscapes at a useless 2,000 bits per nano second sliding into
the soul's bankrupt architecture forgotten machines leak data over
the wretched rusted razor wire compound we call the world

dot dash dot data trash dot love
dot dash obsolete dot dot data dash
yes I am receiving and when should I gut myself? can you hear me?.........
4 3 2 1 yes I am receiving skin to skin post traumatic wide screen disorder
listen this is urgent meet me at uncle Lui's when the clocks strike zero.

feeling in my hand the weight
a tin of beans - wondering
how you're doing; I saw Tom
at the Dhol concert, asked if you'd moved in
told him - you decided to stay in the Gong
a small wave of sadness, washed
across the banks of my equilibrium

this week lighter
enjoying days alone
friends in town
I'm making minestrone

I miss our intimacy
but autumn is here
long walks, scuffing through leaves
content with small movements

today a bundle of courting letters
photographs from happier days
they brought a few smiles
but I hardly recognised us

perhaps another evening
preparing a meal - a penny will...
ah yes... so that's what it was all about...
as I get on with peeling an onion.

apocalyptic pails of rain fell
on the mullock's harsh summit
we took stock in the bombed-out orchard
barrels dripping, glancing about

the torn and empty fields
seemed to shatter the notion
the cherished gift of that hard-forged bond
between man and universe

it's not easy to explain distance
these algebraic mountains
or the chemical vibrations
that cause blood to run cold

but it's tuesday after the war
and for me at least it's over
limping now toward medication
resolute, turning away from life
perfecting the old trick, amnesia.