The problem is
I can recognize this. Both sides.
You can call it a cult... catch people with
movie tears, a song, the theurgy of heaven… all
for those who were just thirsty.
Was there any doubt about my self-worth?
Ill starred or just ill -
I sicken beneath your neediness, soul bludgers.
As I take the money
you lighten shoulders; they
disengage from their bunched splice,
as I go hunt.
She only wanted a hug.
Who would have guessed Zeus was a transient?
Orestes is dressed in a plastic sheet.
Cracked road dyed blond...
abandon stone! Emergency & buried next day.
Faith. You are a wet chorus,
sometimes lies just slip out for no reason
like my cock.
It’s all about the story.
Stimulation is love.
Grow longer legs as we
wade through dead sparrows which
I’ve painted green for fun.
A parasitic lifestyle?
Munch munch, my crop.
People have died for less.
Perth needs a little more time
it’s kinda pert &
under gantry is
constructing its H just
part of a broader growth-spurt the
energy of stones.
Tinplate ghosts, another people’s river
“workable” red timber
basic travel writing
worn on the head to protect from glare.
Our will, the surrender
be still, be tender.
Today is its wind.
I’m the Joe at Cottesloe, then light
Swanbourne indeed, Melon Hill, 360°
seems too many,
Ok be aloft - Kings Park is a launch pad
bind us tight against gravity
the dogs all know
their splash of tongues is anchor,
all is heaven scent.
This acclamation of signs
this muscular tidiness.