we don’t always take stock of

or shed our satellite stocks but a blonde woman

pointing at maps became historical and the moon shone

hysterically on our sector

                                                so we embraced our shelves

for a large complex weather event

an east coast low that we panicked very carefully about

below a fat tsunami cloud

its every wish and wash like policy breaking the air

waves we saw at least a hundred and fifty

cubic metres of sand gone

                                                 lying and gushing about the street

people asked the sea why it had geared up negatively

Turnbull praised the storm for creating

new lucrative-warm waterfront estates further inland

on scenic new river systems

                                                     he was spilling over

bubbling on camera gas eeked from his seams

it was like he’d been mined by his own

sense of the public gaze

royally weighing in on the storm which seemed also

for most of its duration to be at war with various other wars

mostly digital and cultural ones that the media

or at least the media we didn’t have active stakes in

blew up and out of proportion with the kind of

inflammatory commentary straight out

of the textbook on bushfires and cyclones

it was hell

                    mental at the end of the dayglo

hi-vis and off in the west with a few helicopters

dewing the rounds

                                   a certain kind of peace

the moving forward kind had to be made

so the land was employed to right the ship

and the flora and fauna engaged

in the labour that would solidify the electorate

who’d become shaky on all the conflicting beetle grounds

that needed to be shored up

                                                     because time doesn’t

mean anything when you’re about to have Walter lapping

at your door he was phenomenal

contractually speaking his rivers’ tributes to Ares

included roots and trunks of many

wrong-time-wrong-place trees

and snake effigies hollowed out and named

after other hallowed dignitories of the prefab past

participle government

                                          and yet no matter what

Walter employed to stem the time

signatures kept mounting up for a cap to unsuit

the foreign suits who were lining up

which was mean

                                we all thought

an anti-everything mentality had come home to roast

or was it a spit

                           i can’t be onshore

all i know is that it was spinning and revolutions

only last so long or shift their shop

into other regions of the globe like hot or cold y-fronts

so we were all good our behaviour

once the clean-up job had blown over heads

wasn’t in question

                                   we could go on going about our busyness

of acquiring new states of mind to rent out

to embody with avatars or to have digested by

the huge accumulation of mouth pieces we’d amassed

alongside the profiles of those who’d floundered

in the binfire

                           and the platforms we’d divested of them already

innovating in the crosswinds

havens were being founded on cities of foam

                                                                                    we built on

and on the cultural wastelands and the driftwood

things were floating around at such opportune angles

and to such a positive degree in the tide

it was only natural that we adapt the landscape

had shifted it was a truly wonderful time

to be                                                                     offshore

           invested in our futures