From River Cuts: Letters to Robert Adamson

By | 27 June 2005


raining & the flight was shit / in the sticks
somewhere off majura avenue (dickson) 19:39 0646
abstract & bearded hovering on a twelve foot
cushion of evil / a still from eisenstein's ivan
the terrible
, mutation of reading or action in two
parts. early blur of delight, all radioed & human
squawking a row of nameless trees / punctual cloud
swings left onto limestone hunched & rattling, absence
of names he is curled now & breathes through a tube /
attendants measure his piss, milk it into a bag &
store for later reference. said it was okay he camped &
weaved his funereal track / emu park, ogmore, lakes
creek (iced & dealing with horses) proper defences
are wooden & buried in earth. read hart crane (again).
read it aloud in the voice of a woman / only got as far
as ?´surrender'. this city, this great & secret invention
bleak experiment of rooms (death) astounding scrawl of
hair & sunnies / sixty minutes in ash with friends its
flashlights bamboo & giggles / benares or equal dark.
nothing matters. swamp birds dribble & bloat, pilgrims
bob & piss / tabla & skulls / the living dirt in his mouth.
only living brother lost to art & buddhist end-games
the clever panel discuss her artefact collection style:
snipping his hair into a make-up bag or purse, galactic
themed with room for toenails. everything is cut & bagged
& stored downstairs / concrete tubs / the single bulb
of thought, he turns & smiles like a thunderbird
shovels chook food down a tea-stained hole.
in all my dreams the idiot baby with eternal crooked
grin / the story by candle light twisted downward so!
the roll of the drum & hotel in uproar, wilfred owen's
blood-shod barefoot dead, plunging incurably in haunted
latin finale. a little cup of grease that never left his
fingers, upstairs cracked & home / the curtained box (relief).
strange black birds cry from low branches, replacement
birds, the unsettling intersection of transparency & death /
distant bank or silent threat. my father as aguirre slaps
the horse and stares, sinking slowly / ?´mexico was no
illusion' / the invention of fear finds a place in his neck,
whistling & fashioned by unseen dwarven attackers.
always raining, falling into water / choking tastes like
broken lungs / wind in canberra, night. knocks down trees
with words with skin / crude assemblies of metal & wood he
curls in shell & august / cage of eyes the chinese burn of
his throat. black birds hop & fan & unknown morning / red
or north / & feels like winter.

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