hysteria might be an intolerance for the messiness of gender

a wilderness of being, no civitas beneath stockings

unclothed, i am most invisible to myself unclothed

was that the kettle?

fish be to god, glory, highhighhhhhHHHHHHHHHHsssshhhhH
there is no such thing as a sexual relationship (wink emoji)

sometimes the sexiest thing is not to.

what could be sweeter than knowing

what you could have gotten–

or gotten away with
getting what you want

changes your idea of what you can get

don’t even @ me about what you’re entitled to
jesus was a tradie who was gay for books

and spoke up at reading groups, at 12.

when people swear “jesus christ on a bicycle”

they’re taking his relationship

with mary magdalene in vain 
the social-justice framework you bring

to the redistribution of sandwiches

does not hold up for fucking

angels are not owed embraces

the devil is fucking her raw

while you spell-check your love letters,

daydreaming of more-than-half-meant blowjobs 
i want to meet the people who use dental dams,

and feed them gummy bears on blueberry yoghurt
i’ve heard it hurts when you’re born into a combination

of skin and bone that makes people think

your love is less than
sorry, im just a basic hysteric,

(constantly competing with sublime hysterics, the only thing i share with hegel

is a star sign)

assigned a bastard at birth

half-un-white
a pimple on the otherwise smooth backside of identity

children happen.         (existence, suddenly/i didn’t ask for it)                     
the sound of transience   is

the train you just missed,

                     from frankston                     to flinders street

                                                                                             sunday midnight.

holding hands at the gallery

might be nice
i don’t know how to hold

what’s worth preserving

love is a story you tell

when saying “that’s not enough” feels selfish
there’s enough of me to be 100%

to all my commitments & to poetry

i am thermopylae and tirad pass

in the alternate timeline where the underdogs win
im just a basic hysteric, not those sublime ones

we discuss at the Clyde while Darlene purrs on the carpet,

das ding behind those refrigerator doors we’ve never opened,

the mystery

keeps us returning
the things i can’t say to your face

i write in Cordite.



 I had a first-year student who had been a tradie,

who told me that when he would take out a book during breaks, he would be told, “books are gay.”

He turned his back on potentially earning $100,000 at the mines to become a teacher. ↩
 Amia Srinivasan says this in her book The Right to Sex. A version of the chapter featuring the line

about sandwiches is in the London Review of Books. ↩
 On Transience is a brief essay by Sigmund Freud, in which he reflects

on the possibility of renewed libidinal investment after loss. ↩
 During the Filipino Revolution against American colonial forces in 1899, 60 Filipino soldiers

led by 24-year-old revolutionary General Gregorio Del Pilar fought against 500 Americans,

preventing them from reaching then fleeing Philippine President Emilio Aguinaldo.

Del Pilar and his troops were killed in combat. The Battle of Tirad Pass is sometimes

regarded as the Philippines’ Battle of Thermopylae. At the December 1898 Treaty of Paris,

the Spanish empire sold the Philippines and its other territories to the United States

for 20 million dollars. The United States refused to recognise the Philippine Declaration of

Independence, which took place earlier in the year, on 12th June 1898. ↩
 The Clyde Hotel on 385 Cardigan Street is a known watering hole for Melbourne’s literary

and continental philosophy avant-garde scene. ↩
 Darlene is the Clyde’s calico cat. She’s very reserved. Be gentle with her. Watch the

floor because she blends into the carpet. ↩