Run! Run! Run run run run! For a safe climate! take the trolley! & that box of something! tony abbott youre so cute i could skin you alive with a hammer. Nothing can hold it together. The skin of true conservatism flapping uselessly in the winds of change Remember Flying Circus. That first orgasm flooding lost fields. Swim! Swim! Swim swim swim! For a safe primate! And stop! Stop! Stop! To catch your breath. Be the last to find a hardwood chair save them all from the fire next time Abbott! Abbott Abbott Abbott! You know you want him! Want him gagged and bound across your knee with Bronwyn Bishop watching! Bronwyn! Bronwyn and Julie! Now our fledgling poem incriminates but surely the Bishop cannot judge when the Abbott, coming on a cloud weighted down – his holiness – carries a malevolent grudge born out of years in government and self fisting love, the kind of self love that corrupts egos erect, the humans jerk, while nature laughs at these pitiful inhabitants scolds, scolds, scolds with terrible whips disheartened by such self indulgent wasting of potential. The light at the heart of the world just went out. without leaving a note to say 'grow your own tobacco' built a boat built a boat of human skin to float along a coast to a place where the rivers flow in Ah! it sounds like Mosquito Coast – in search of a new way of living on this earth. Remember what happened? Dead ahead.
31.1: POST-EPIC
Released 1 December 2009 - 1 August 2010Index of Poems
Editor/ Producer: David Prater
Each of the poems in this issue starts with a line from a poem in EPIC. All lines are in fact comments that were added by readers. Scroll down each page to find out who wrote what! Or read the post-epic post-mortem.
take the trolley! & that box of something! tony abbott youre so cute i could skin you alive with a hammer.
Nothing can hold it together.
The skin of true conservatism flapping uselessly in the winds of change
Remember Flying Circus.
That first orgasm flooding lost fields.
Swim! Swim! Swim swim swim! For a safe primate!
And stop! Stop! Stop! To catch your breath.
Be the last to find a hardwood chair
save them all from the fire next time
Abbott! Abbott Abbott Abbott! You know you want him! Want him gagged and bound across your knee with Bronwyn Bishop watching! Bronwyn! Bronwyn and Julie!
Now our fledgling poem incriminates
but surely the Bishop cannot judge
when the Abbott, coming on a cloud
weighted down – his holiness -carries a malevolent grudge
born out of years in government and
self fisting love, the kind of self love that corrupts
egos erect, the humans jerk, while nature laughs at these pitiful inhabitants
scolds, scolds, scolds with terrible whips
disheartened by such self indulgent wasting of potential.
The light at the heart of the world
just went out.
without leaving a note
to say 'grow your own tobacco'
built a boat built a boat of human skin to float along a coast to a place where the rivers flow in
Ah! it sounds like Mosquito coast – in search of a new way of living on this earth. Remember what happened?
Dead ahead.