By | 1 August 2015

The premonition was that I’m asleep,
sleeping sensibly, believing it takes more
violence to wake us than daybreak.
– ‘The Premonition’, by John Mateer

Monday morning, another black death
in custody, the world emerging
from the misty firmament
her long, sooty howl

I step out onto the earth
and squint beneath the recollections
history’s page curling in the flame
a nation fattening on its own starch

I’m grumbling back to the pit
in the guts of a car at the lights
I slide into dream
(blasting eternity—the ugliest

word—into paragraphic scratches)
I grow larger than the waves and wipe out
suburbs by the sand
I sense nothing but I know how to fall

I bubble with curses and I freckle
and wilt under the shining blade
Country lost in promises of models
of melting worlds

I awake to see a body without flesh
your flags blending into my bones
as a wet splutter of current arcs
through my bed’s baked rock

you’re telling me, from across the paddocks
you’re telling me
you’re crammed into the coast
opening your arms and telling me
that a memory
is the epoch’s lonely fool

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