scattered as Marcus as he got swept

up in frigid Melbourne as drunk as

little Nathan buried in Mbembe at

A.N.U. spent as the dull complicity

in offices proved on poor green me

is how damn scattered we are.
‘cause scattered is how we flew here.

and wide as the friction that comes

as the fire rubbing up against sun

burnt country, as settled as our g’daze.

it’s no wonder as we wonder what the

stretch of funk up in here sounds like. 
we’re about to lose our heads ‘cause

we disperse and sprawl through the

fire expanse of who we hold on and how

we go on and where we go and how we

get to where we need to sinking here on

some stunning burnt, burnt country. 
I too often have the sense of falling up

into a sheet of stars. and if I share

with you where we’re going out of

the dark night as the way our questions

burnt through like that constellation

Steph painted on my heavy chest. 
it’s like a black articulation, for real.

caught in the swell of afro punk

and our dispersals also groove as

our displacements slip from azonto to

dub to murmur of different tongues

as we are sprawling, we are sprawling. 
on the greenest grass. as the bbq fires

mother earth flat where we are who we are

as blurred as Australian as can be, completely

caught in the swell as our nightly soars

shine this evening bright as Alessandro

leaps into the crowded air and scatters