By | 3 February 2024


Hey Nine’s Many Sides, who
you calling “arse-up”? Six
could claim the same. Besides,
they’re the other half of
that tantric act and it
does take two to tango.


Six, you are everywhere.
You’re all strings strummed on a
guitar, beers drunk from the
pack, and the degrees of
separation between
two people anywhere.


You’re revolver bullets—
just like the number of
shots Dirty Harry claimed
he lost count of from his
.44 Magnum on
some punk’s luckiest day.


In the mountains, you’re the
crystalline symmetry
of a snowflake. And you
categorise insects,
shape the sides of beehive
cells. Bent little tadpole.


Six, you sense dead people.
Your nightly news is dark.
Ancient Greeks put a hex
on you. You’re also sex
from the Kiwi tongue—or
said in Latin. In the


Bible, six is seen as
sinful—even more so
in a threesome: Satan’s
secret symbol. Bad, they
say. It’s a good thing you’ve
turned 18, Six Six Six.

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