divided track, lowering in volume until it’s eclipsed. Red
tongue on charcoal. Trees shaped by the atmosphere. A
hand clasps a beam of wood. Your request is being finalised. Air
pressure drops. Ironing board. Different airs unlocked. The
effect of one, superb book, coming apart in one’s hands. Drinking
and walking. Gaunt pieces of furniture, under a white sheet.
to say. Pollen in one’s hair. An object moving
through space. Breathless on the radio. Driving to Steve
Reich’s “Music for Eighteen Musicians.” The
concrete imagination. And the percolator joins in. Making
a mistake, waving from a porch. The accent of that afternoon.
in translation, internal politics. The future poured into small
metal cups. “At this point I’m just pressing buttons
randomly.” The birds come closer over time. The
pleasurable state of namelessness. Disembarkation. Float
into a different suburb. Ring bark. “Wearing” a
beard. Field of disconstructed machines. Grass farm. One
mood trounces another.
your money inside out. Bloodless statistic. Woke up with
sore muscles and wet shoes. A frame upon which. Degrees
of confluence. Continuous beard of bees along a shoreline. The
image equally abstract and concrete. Changing shirts, changing
altitudes. The photographer can smell death.
quota of experiencing for the year. An object woken up. The
line intersects the space, makes two adjacent areas. Conical
shadow. Reservoir, a groove in the staircase. Fixate
on a vowel. Discretion. Or tearing strips off. Finishing
what one started.
familiar cannibal. Purified gloop. Sold by the shipping
container. Live exports drifting past the groyne. Unexamined
pages. Lit up like a shopping centre. Not all things
are like other things. Chewing it over. A layer of connectives. Old
coffee, banana republic. Mental emission target. Dragging
itself down a hill. Running and climbing at the same time.
sweepings. Or the trunks of former glory. Space equally
devoted. Whimsical attitudes, rapid eye movement. A corner
of rubble. Falling into line. Cash register, brass alarm. Set
it afloat. A slideshow of well-washed atmospheres.
phases. Symphonic gloom. Wonder who’ll be listening. The
gloom of the visible. Trucks with us, light throughout the
house. Trusting a drove. The slinky harbour. Shave
off the crinkles, on top of your coffee. “Live” from
the skirting board. Pieces in a felt bag.
drum shelter, safely unrelated. Red string from the roof. Has
gone quiet. Electricity meter imperceptibly changing. Gravel
teeth. Something burning wetly. A capsule or a frond. Raised
above itself, from a multi-level carpark. Affably unconnected
to those others, now among them. Later forming queues at locations. The
driving home would also be visible. And this for months.
a poet living in Melbourne, Australia, who has had work published
in various Australian journals. The poems here were written in
the south west of Western Australia and are part of a longer series.