before killing a pig, be kind, do it humanely, stick it close
to its pasture-fed heart, blood ribbons out, language ribbons in
the abattoir worker, a pork laureate, the light of the
electric stunner, a pork heaven, the poem, a pork chop
chewed close to the bone, a memory of the world’s most consumed
meat, a meat as common as poetry, a thing so common that even
Gina Rinehart wrote one, in deep allegiance to mining, affixed it to
a 30-ton iron ore boulder, a poem as pointless as Google reviews of waterfalls
or celebrities returning from space & we are the only animals who ‘do’
‘PDFs’, ‘infinite scroll’, ‘girlbossing’, ‘marketing’, ‘humane slaughter’, poetry
all different ways to touch the void, the original poem, in
different intensities & through different veils, poetry finds
its way through, the green that bursts open bitumen’s weals,
let’s not reinvent the ocean, says a board executive, glossolalia in
all major supermarkets & from the right angle, even a pigeon’s throat
is an event of light & in this country, a fire has been burning
underground for over 6000 years, o hollowed out
earth, o so many voids, o not enough time to write them
too busy being a valued employee, too busy being a
valued customer, too busy valuing work-life-lobotomy balance
all this surplus squealing, all these heavenly shards of distraction & when
I walk around at night, all I see through open windows, is everyone just
streaming television into their eyes, is that hope or just microplastics
beating through my blood & brain & heart, corpse pose really is
quite a relaxing position to have one long ugly thought about
how there is twice as much plastic as living things in the world, the
corporate urge to laminate a burning planet, ugh the fascists
are texting me again & the bludgers that be are making an appointment to
have a meeting to develop a plan to have a meeting to discuss
a pathway to arrive at a goal, a ‘goal’ being the shit version of a dream
& we are making an appointment to have a meeting
to develop a plan to have a meeting to arrive at
unlimited poetry
inside us
unlimited possibility
outside us