By | 1 February 2015

i.m. Ric
to lose is to be in the game

Waking to anger
hauling that fire
through the day
every day
bloody tongues
licking the crater
frozen by courtesy

he thinks:
there must be
millions like me.
If you made a country of us,
would the U.N. be interested?
If you threw us
into Federation Square
tied at the ankle,
armed with razors,
would we challenge
Friday night football
for spectators?

Help us out here.
Name an orchid after failure.
Hang aspiration
from Flinders Street station.
Graffito government
with Gaudi twirl.

Give us
a Hallmark issue
of Dia de Muertes

tell us you’re breath for our wings
as you press us down
such a pity you’re so heavy!

We’ll soon
learn your steel saw through iron
roofing tenor whine
as though it were song

and understand, though
we don’t know how,
that we were, always, wrong.

It seems you’re the best we can do.
How can we not believe you?

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