i.
A new regime and daily now we count each step –
so much for the flaneur who won’t have seen the
street sweepers voided glass attentions to detail 
the stairs doused stools upturned a-nights three 
parts smashed heard hours since in cool/scenic 
first name basis coffeeshops count the stairs or 
court the path and bless it folderol for the ages
the australian financial review waterproofed 
at the foot of the rivering drive vigil posting 
pet losses push on and rest upstream enact     
the data see the poems whose concentrated 
lists accumulate and mark modernity as my 
name comes gloatingly up if steps are numb
ered distraction is too numerous to count  


ii
A delicate shot 
                                                out of the dunes 
left you about ten

seconds to dive into the frame…
more than a bit of beach-worship out here   
Shining the badge to esteem in a sequence mapping East –

a glass box at the blue limit 	
                                                We’re still pissing

                                                in our wetsuits …
the red and yellow breeze falling

back to our cream brick eldorado  
                                    rare 
                                    cloud-grey

                                    chalking pastel fibro 
                                    up the road –
                                                that possessed

and breathless pitch

            hammer raised

                                                            to dust 
pure de-cluttering
                                    not-for-long 	
                        moving house where 
                        brighter folk leave priceless art on the confused

                        space of a footpath
            This all two trains and

            a sweaty trek from the 
            stripped and paintless 
            western face of a weatherboard in December 
                        I own I live

                        in the sprawl   
            and notational spree

            and might be anywhere 
                        unconvinced
                        listening in to
the americanisms

that go unnoticed
            I own I grew up here
            bought in
            stayed and got out 
            Same pledge to postcode

            inked in over the knuckles
            art that’s mainly tracings
            All the things you might have

            been minus your inheritance 
                        Saturday
                        bought country road at the red x for a comp

arative song 
            anyway
            like to see it?  


Age of incredulity
Beneath the vicenarian chipboard façade charity at the door that

gives nothing boots up silver stairs the flagged duck-walk to nip

libel in the bud. sanded roads and blank semaphores and i wait

as you in a minor gridlock of mutual irresolution. most alarms

are overlooked but where a die-hard pious few out along the

weeded island spare the time (or cash) to pray for me for us –

was it e’er more timely…they mumble or remind me move

ment’s blind as i pass the bank the toy shop and tabac the

sullen punters learning their place in the vip lounge. here

a mild swipe at sworn rivals pleads you rethink your plan

to happiness. leap and clap your feet if clued in. now we

cross the road for an aversion to hi vis. graffiti like civic

pride. i go home only via the above. but home too tells

curious tales…your institution or mine. how is it on an

average day sun shining the benign seems indictable…

how should the ordinary account for my incredulity.   


iv.



No idling promenade 
i.
Now those shameful alerts or a broad audience for a

novel definition of alcoholism graces the promenade 
where we stop and curate a casual shot and share it

emblematically waves behind and in a smitten idyll  
even the police have had time for a beach drive-by

well might we referee ourselves strays are off the 
chain still it’s no idling pastime paying guests sag

under shouts and military duress then the sand –
ii.
Could you go and draw a more severe line in it?

brekky on the beach through a slessorian lens
and men at their leisure flip the menu to the

shared pea or weed salad the cucina povera 
which only matches an austere architecture

bathing in clinical light mini dudes on trikes 
cruise on ahead prams importune at tears

and stop curate the shot…share it capitally