baby likes it when i get polemical               i say stuff like               torture’s bad

but punching is good               she’s like no that’s wrong

so i can be the libertine
letter home says : tram routes are astrology for melbourne

if you calculate them right               you can               make a profitable investment

a chance meeting opens doors to success and friendship

you can fall in love               under the 86               at its zenith

g’day is the secret joke word               strangers hide it in their mouths

like a gold coin donation

before they say something               fucking awful               look i’ll do it for you

dialectics, poetics, reflexivity, hybridity…               ummmm.trauma……..we are all

very sad here
very sad about our bodies               our boyfriends & global warming

our fictitious babies die in heat waves & food riots               on the pikes of the faceless

& terrible order
not you & me tho aye babe               ours died in a petri dish               in the future

               & we can’t afford them               our eggs are fried anyway

our eggs are smashed up               on the floor of our fortress

our paint-by-numbers mansion               we do mindfulness

on the marble floors               resisting               the cheap narratives of resistance

we say piss off

we say               look we’re marxists but we don’t go outside               we stole the money

for this fortress from our dads               actually we are squatting

our dads are no good               we cower on the chaise longue

& our lives               flash before us like a formula               we like the colours

on the toxic smog horizon               & there’s some good political invective before

the rays melt our skulls               you try & take a picture but it happens really fast

               i love your skull
o melbourne               o heatwave               dead possums & no-one to bury them

it’s all dangerous & horrible but kinda hot               like that time i got roofied

in williamsburg

& you dragged               my limp body down the corridor               of a midtown hotel

               like it was really bad but it’s a good story               if you know your audience
“the paths of glory lead but to the grave”               so said my granddad

he told me while he ate a bread roll               then he went to sleep

i took it               it was good advice               i took a nap in the yellow wood

you tried to be a thought leader               or a public intellectual

me               i knew i’d be a star
o! o! we love each other like limpets in the big fear               one day somebody’s

gonna say               girls               you’re not that devastating

& it won’t matter & we won’t care               the dirt moves out from under our feet

the thwarted seasons               reach a human scale               & your skull

the loveliest               bleached egg               on the vast rock