notes on status

Today you toddle off
elaborately inane, to where your profile

fills out like a bin-liner caught by the

– John Forbes, ‘Colonial Aubade’


ha survive in a corporate office
without actually working (just
live there, haunt the espresso

see brother, la revolution begins on every page, in
every line

in gel caps /
the deepest blues

only to find that
nothing beards us like a lack
of ritual responsibilities

a life of not being able to
pop a balloon with a stick of celery

(not the place itself but your slim scared imaginings of)

like spring racing carnival,
fashions in the field yet
another vocabulary for
status to shake around in...

deep in the bowels of
some corporate tent or other
you realise luxury is irresistible,
has its own set of ‘classique’ emotions

& one day,
with a dab of brio and your lucky haircut,
you could have your very own war





impermeable, unstirred, unmoved

these lives that go on regardless

city of satellites

another new suburb on the city fringe

mounds of sand, industrial supplies stand waiting

shopping village has the works for home and garden

“we'll need at least 15 bags of ice”

the hells these cuts of meat came through (you'd weep & refuse to eat)

driving past these oversize words that say nothing, nothing to stop us

“what lifting the ban on uranium mining would do for this state”

news item portraying protesters as terrorists / clowns / mutants

this station plays the golden oldies

poet's biography ->