sting-along

1 May 2017

there’s no point to owning a country
if you can’t look after your own hair
the tv burped the weeks broke up like packets
of biscuits we swept through them on the way
to the bus stop holidays were full of conjunctions
forget the piles of prepositions i ate crime novels
with a plate of siestas my signature slid around
like a post-mexican wave; the insects were almost
worse than centrelink on every windowsill after
dark the film about the poet with a neat little
notebook no crossings out was too cute for
words i got sunburnt in the shade between
the mango and the bacon the soles of my best
$200 sandals fell to pieces like archived echoes
during a free speech on heart attacks send
a photo to our address in the bible belt advised
the manufacturer the dog didn’t eat the housework
it just got lost time to vacate the vacation i forgot
that my new super dental floss is not an astral chord

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