th[e] broken

By | 29 November 2006

the broken wings   of spent birds, flying until overweight

with pollution & a closing sky

                              th broken promises      that saw a short,

dry cleaned pedestrian questioning his small existence

                                                                                           only later,

                                                                a reduction in afternoon

                              the broken child   confused in a   mix

master of red-brick dust & mother's [underrated] cooking

                                                                                             th broken voices

beside an unused lake, the view beautiful to the unharmed eye

the broken package of blunt genetials re-inventing themselves

as consumable Art &


                  the broken radiator          flung hard against conversations

about   the Whitlam years, uranium toothpaste,                 closed

insomnia & other                                                        forgotten miscarriages

                              the broken sound of two mountains banging

together in the middle of Israel & indifferent prophets

                                                                                       th broken narrative

homogenised in a plastic wrapping of expectant public hygiene

and lack      of attention to the word:   nature

                              th broken fences keeping the small distance

b/w my first masturbation   & the bible   sticking against my skin

the broken fridge door         slammed after a morning walk into

the stick forest                              once known as everything

th broken geography                           of slow unremoveable breast

cancer and my dead mother                              wanting to die

the broken flesh that surrounds the boundaries of my flannelette


                                                                                                      the broken sibling

hiding under a carcass pillow of                    heroin like a swollen bedsheet

the broken verse submerged in an unfathomable blue sea of multinationals,

nameless thirst & hunger

th broken ideal begun in front of 200 white skinned males without any

                                                                                hint of revolution

                                     the broken light seen

catching a passenger train, moving across my suburban paths, and finally

resting, illuminated like a yellow scrapbook

th broken furniture                                                                    wanting a smaller room

the broken toy borrowed a thousand times

without                                  repair, tin eyes                                   and a considerable skin                   

                                  the broken poem

like a na??òve pilgrim entering a neighbourhood milk-bar only to see his

own image tattooed on a cigarette packet

                                                                               the broken man found

nailed between the naked walls                             of his own white bread sandwich

the broken dreams                                                      & dream.

                                                                            this sticky tape life.

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