“Hi,” she says with sparkling eyes
“Are you coming in your car?
“I want to know if you live nearby.
“See if you can dance with me!”
Stone cold I can feel the air on my bones
Where she leans in–skin warmth hair her air
I run I try
“Oh God, I’m so
“I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry, the time.”
“Hi,” she says with sparkling eyes
Shutdown, baby, your stars are shuttered
It pains me to say, but your mother’s insane
She’s wonking away, so she can buy time to play more
Need I say more? She’s not to be trusted with things
Take these wings.
The pitch black of his room
His own raised hand
Floating up, floating down, floating up, floating down
Briney gritty echoes of sand
Flotsam jetsam shadowed underpasses
Coins notes grimy bus stop stares
Stripy shirts thick rimmed glasses
A ringed finger curling a strip of wet hair
Slender fingers on a clerk’s cash box
Unbidden compressions of air
I used to be cool by the pool
Now I drool on a stool
I’m the lull in the visits my visitors pay
By the window I wait
This existence, the minutes, the hours, the days
In my day children were raised in a box
With nothing to play with but splinters and socks.
What creativity such props would inspire!
Socks! Chanting around a splintery pyre,
Sock puppet theatres, splintery stages,
Torturing socks with splinters in childlike rages!
Nowadays children have Mobile Devices,
Minecraft, Scribblenauts and other such vices.
How can they learn, how can they function?
Using dinguses without compunction.
They lack the appalling boredom and shame
That made me the man I am today!
Dear Indian student, to learn
A profession’s ins and outs.
Don’t come to Australia,
We’re racists here—
Xenophobic and ruled by fear.
Take your gap year,
Dear Canadian peers,
Of Australia, stay clear. It’s weird,
My commonwealth friends, but I note
We torture people who come here by boat.
We send ’em to islands with disease and rapers
And if someone faked papers,
Lord help them! For fleeing
From terror, they’ve errored.
Now illegal human beings,
People here think the government’s not doing enough
To be inhumanely brutally rough.
To this meet I am goin’
It’s at this place that’s kinda hard to explain
It’s a style of building you don’t see a lot
If you’re not from Telstra or the communist bloc
This darkly stained tower where we hold our meet?
Is a mixture of Kubrick and browned cobblecrete
You guessed it, it’s your favourite, it’s the UTS tower
But is it the true seat of UTS power?
shit shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck
i wanted necro or potm or puck
or doom or pa or even es
zeus lina axe huskar or anyone else
look at his hillbilly shit eating grin
and with my skill at micro? we ain’t gonna win
i’ll be standing in lane with my view distantly
farming a camp while I’m ganked mercilessly
my team’s gonna hate me for poofing about
with the speed of a frozen fish fillet with gout
On test driven development, opinions vary
So let me give you some advice for the wary
Performance? It’s easy as to convey
You can run some numbers and see what they say
UX? It’s subtle but quick to effect
And you’ll get lotsa smiles from the users you met
Following a style guide and conveying intent?
You’ll see straight away mismatching indents!
But how do you teach how it feels to be free
Of staying back late to fix bug 93?
How do you convey in actual words
When the software you write actually actually works?
My God, can you believe this guy?
Oh my God, he’s slowed right down beside
I sigh, say hi and die inside
He’s fine alright
His car is fly
Why oh why
Won’t he give me a ride
By his side
All the time?
I could give up wifi
Amelia Canning’s question: What’s the skin in the middle of your nose called?
I want to say phylum but maybe that
Is some Greek sex toy or some Roman hat
I want to say innex but it sounds kind of wrong
Like a preppy bayarea nineties dot com
I want to say pilaf but it sounds too delicious
I want to say nostrum but it feels too contritious
I want to say snotwall, it’s the funniest name
I want to say bridge but it’s already a game
And a thing that you cross to get over a creek
And hey! it’s already a part of your beak
All my life, my nostrils it separately kept ’em
What? Septum? Ha ha no, it’s definitely not septum
her warm chest, against my back.
her arm, it snakes around me.
an empty cardboard sleeve in her,
golden arches on a jaunty red.
i inspect it.
cardboard reflected in my,
i want you to eat me, wearing this
her lips touch my ear.
silk drapes billow, softly.
Paulina’s Question: Why do civilisations rise and die?
Word: Bitchy Resting Face
Hot oily Egyptians
Got frisky with Christians—
Cleo’s dance card was full.
But she turned around
And sadly found
That her temples and libraries were burned to the ground.
Catherine the Great
Left things in a state
That nobody thought could be better.
But her empire got sick
With Archdukes, Bolsheviks,
And BAM, became a soviet socialist republic.
Was in dire need
Of a great number of modern reforms.
Her people revolted,
White men got assaulted,
Then a lotta white armies showed up and she bolted.
See, in each of these cases,
It wasn’t the traces
Of bitchiness in their ruler’s faces.
The reasons were strange,
And the rulers got blamed.
The only thing that’s constant is change.
Quarters, dimes and nickels are fine
But what’s a dime, when you live abroad
And deal in dollars and cents all the time?
Question: How do we decide what is moral?
Word: Peter Principle
Yesterday I had a performance review,
And seeing as how it was long overdue,
I got a promotion to “Ultra Pooh Bah
King of the World and Importantest Tzar,
Ruler of All who Doth Canst See-eth Me
(And Decider of All Morality)”
So now that I’m the headest honcho,
The strippers and booze that you said, “Had to go”?
They’re by the book, they’re protocol now!
Oh don’t look like that, you silly old cow.
All your boring old rot about equality’s not
How the world works, besides which you’re not even that hot.
I can’t write a poem every day, no way!
I have things to do I have bills to pay.
I’ll starve, I won’t make it down to the shop,
To buy food, you know? I’ll be sacked from my job.
I’ll be sweaty and dirty unshowered unclean,
And I’m sure Geoff will be uncharacteristically mean.
He’ll write hundreds of poems, with little more,
Than it takes me to write just one metaphor.
His similes like noses, poised and ready
To detect my stinking prose and depose it
With elegant rhyme and wicked enjambment.
Damn it Geoff.
Why’d I agree to this gambit.
layla layla layla layla
williamstown, melbourne australia
you are your mummy and daddy’s parts
arms legs eyes face hair hands heart
Are there more fish in the sea or is it all a big lie?
dose me again this balustrade
i cling to is love is a fool
my eye is danger is cavernous night
is elevation is haunted sight
like the one from the top
of my topple down stairs
hard blood wood pinched short baluster pairs
from this crazy high up i can see
just the bottom of the stairs
where i’ll be
Write everything you know about dying.
rupture eclipse snapping pain white light
such a glorious sound! such a colourful sight!
i’m jealous. i am. i received my death blow
before you were born—many years ago.
Question: How can I hold all these limes?
Word: Flesh wound
When the battle starts my friends, be fast
Hold them off with your shield and your staff
For if I sustain but the smallest flesh wound
I will have to make a saving throw
Or drop these limes to the depths below
Then how will we season our drinks, hmm?
And how will we make pancakes rise?
And exactly how will we add a fruity tang
To our next pad thai, do you surmise?