With The Year I’ve Had I Should Have Written A Better Poem
Unexpected Spring, oxygen gulfs the embers, it’s Dante’s daycare,
smoke forest fires’ flotsam free chaos debris that can’t be put back together drifts and drifts and drifts outward over half a continent.
A 36 fatal smudge stick.
People wearing masks just to go to work or walk down Sydney’s CBD,
it's just crazy, these almost invisible carbon particles choking us, who would have thought it?
Not me. Apocalyptic hum where you come from?
My initiation to 2020 was bliss. A Woodford sunrise, an inhale bringing in new year optimism, Tibetan monks bless us with throat singing.
A hilltop with close friends, dawn welcoming a soft and symmetrical year in.
A little tired and sweaty- but all is love.
Birds all around us chirp happy that they don’t know they’re alive.
Brexit happens and is on the loose, and Britons youth lose too, but, that’s far away, twelves months to deal with, an end of year deadline.
I could have choked on my juice. No one saw this mcguffin in the boot. I didn’t realise how quickly my job didn’t need me.
Colombian president flies a private jet with blessed virgin Mary across the country to save them and his people praise him.
Telling someone you can’t breath has never had so many layers, the sound of zips ties, barking and ventilators, it’s knees on skin on blood on concrete. And it’s happening right here in our own streets, it’s the nightmares our nightmares have and they've been given extra electoral seats. Matte black mellinine attracts flashing lights and there are those who just want their lives to matter.
Poor Melbourne
No one wants to stay inside this long,
but never has going out felt so inconsiderate. I found the luckiest place on earth, freedom now even richer
and that is worth being grateful for.
Anyways.
This year is like trying to tell a Capricorn dominatrix what to do.
Hard to find love in the time of Corona, and I’m just about done with dating apps,
there’s just introverts and activists left.
The pool is bloated with empty inflatable rings and I might just drown, and I might just, and masks on on dates but still crowded at the PA.
A celestial conjunction.
Even the planets just want to get it on. And for a while there were hardly any humans hurting through the air,
no fly guys zone
and the birds are louder now from simple silence
or the sky has quieter orgasms.
What a year,
double two score in numerals. Ridden in on the
four rusting mechanical bulls of the apocalypse.
It's the year of forever waiting, enough epsilons to fill a swimming pool,
and full stops to fill bathtubs and morgues.
And what’s more there’s the contagion of sighs and eye rolling .
Can we get a vaccine against ignorance?
And remember Brexit happened?
We see that America holds democracy like water in a cheese grater.
And remember if you can Flint Michigan.
What a dark broken year
, and we’re
waiting for the sun
like a faulty kitchen light
to turn back on.
I write this on January 1st,
in empty reserved car park lots
And the birds chirp overhead, happy not knowing they are alive or dead.
This just in:
Two zero two one
asymmetric
clock
just the right tilt
to let the air flow back on.
Out with miasma,
in: three two
going going gone
https://onespace.com.au/exhibition/depart/