(descriptive-noun): a whip-crack orchestra of air conducted by a landing airplane


at the heart of Sydenham

             an ode to the misplaced

large red couch     mosaic tea-pot     lampshade

                                                    a kind of

                                       we have built what we have taken

                          a slap in the face? 
             a win at least for the pigeons

                           upon electric wires

             admiring the perfect C

burnt by a car into the grass 
                          where so much depends upon an Ibis

             or two longnecks on a green bench 
             BOOMING 
                                       the Marrickville Pause

                          from Tahiti     Maui     connecting from LA

from New York from London

             from the cracked pavement by which we exist

                          as a CONFINED SPACE reveals

tunnel upon tunnel

                              and an Illawarra train accelerates

             into cumbia     dancing out a café’s doors

in Atacama de Chile

             where between songs

we heard the loudest sound of nothing

                                       saw the dry red earth     white-salted

like a great vista of steak     another concept of death

                          the world perceived at 10am

through the bottom of schooners

             at the General Gordon Hotel
                                                    BOOMING
             through this Giraffe ODYSSEY

                          a Virgin cuts the camembert sky blue

and ‘a politician will always be

                                       a politician’ he tells me 
                                       the day’s trains

                          due                  north

                                       west

                                                    south

                                                                                           and from the east i walk from sleep

into a dream of the orient

             smoke billowing

                          from a Marrickville factory

     like an industrial warehouse lets waste slip

                                       into the Yangtze

or the sky over Sydney

                                                    CBD protruding post-card perfect

             even sketched     
                                       the morning light upon brown tracks

while up and down the platform

             people drift like plastic bags

                                       in an ocean of warm stability

waiting to board yet another absent desire

             to separate the self

                                    from its commodity

or petition the elite

             to a discontinuation of the myth 
                                       when the world has become

             an escape from the world

                            another object held in the hand

 given to the brush of a finger

              with nothing to believe in    
             BOOMING 
                                       the slippery wind of another jet

                          whipping the Sydenham sky

                                                    into repose