Aught, no. 7 (2001)

Michael Farrell

dons

moved by your elopement the don

lies dead come the pumacoloured

missives will the deer know who they

are cry along the gluey strip

tear away dotted lion where

the widow blames the curtains pink

& sky the don makes waves for sand

kings even monkeys understand

turn five degrees kill a mushroom

 

meta

arent we all in this together

the flowers grew out of the gard

of need im poised on the needles

lip sew him dead like exciting

football my sober & welldressed

friend we live like horses with

bad memories we live like cats

with vitamin deficiencies

i want to call it a name that

means something to me interrupts

the monotony the foxtel

consoles like a virtual stole

 

amient

theres a mouse on the esk & snow

an urning hush in the white store

on the screen i see the things i

love or know & the leas that calm

rey cereal & milk in lace

everyone wears the same face come

to me let me work on the sounds

you make a human sens postcar

nowhere recoring every quiet

smashing peppercorns with spoons the

monoliths stares are framente

the raps of my hans is sure the

moths ask ok thanks to the hum

that shares a womb & earth with us

 

crap sitcom

long johns can make a joke against

it the office & officer

the warmth was cold to summer kids

the cold rose to the top & did

last night have to do with it hey

erase it then why dont you as

junior of six i was bored dead

over sixty minutes of walk

he thought hed made history talk

now the present listens buries

now the pasts grabbed his underpants

yeah i can laugh i can almost

having to wait to be found out

only the heaters weak ceiling

way too high in the bath & car

asserting teen rights to teen things

retrieving the fifties from the

dead decades for a few dickheads


Copyright 2001, by the author. All rights reserved.
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