that thin mercury sound

By | 1 June 2013

after the fire escapes and security guards
it is good to be beyond CCTV
amidst the howling sirens whipped wind
the thin mercury sound sculpted on sand
the base jumper poised like a civilisation
on a precipice of wasting military assets
before a leap into faith and squashed Midtown gum

the fly-eyed troubadour’s declared intent
the Pitt St. tractor’s pilot manoeuvres by sextant
closer to the CWA delights aesthetic Marxism
handicapped by last season’s King Gee
the verses face up to supported living
wandering the parched grass beyond visiting hours
where in better days the wallabies grazed

lost in a hard drive somewhere between
formats and a nasty trojan horse the length
of an absence stretches like a hair band
co-opted into service as a lock a galleon
mid-ocean stranded twixt trade winds
like that commercial only melancholy
a microwave dinner in the warmth of the presbytery

when mysticism has deserted religion
it’s not enough to face down the beast with popsicles
exhibitors fill the Friday night choc top make out slot
with a CGI Jesus aloft some sea as pithy as
Wivenhoe a digital age donkey chase
piloting perilously down Pilate’s cavernous streets
distracted from our inevitable

Oedipal deaths the literary devices get left
on the shoulder abandoned like tics after therapy
while snow liquid papers over the green coronet
and the bits of science that science forgets
it is the bullsnorting bouncers who make us decline
bobbing weaving and hooking our grammar on
their death rattle line we like Hi-NRG

uptempo sounds eat yellowfin to be efficient
she kissed him behind the bike shed and it read
Thatcher OUT LBW Alderman
we have not been polled for our taxes
but we still body pop while the neocon circle sits
the gnarled acetates take you back to the crackled
part of the flanking manoeuvre you’ve already won

vinyl jams crammed
into the parcel shelf of your DeLorean
windows custom tinted as the hairs
on your neck prick with the sharpness
of that thin mercury sound

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