Each righteous description
and each derivation

of sun possession
to own a brand-name,

patterning of time
on skin. Wealth

is obscene, and poems
are no safe-zones

from the brutality
of clichés. Factory

raw material design
service industries.

I drew this with hyper-realist zest
already satisfied no one would believe

it was a commitment of graphite
and ink. We discussed sources

and postmodern ruses — overlaps
with functionality and the practical

persuasions of demographics. Attending
the scene, ensuring things are in place

for the dress rehearsal. That sinking
feeling or municipal arousals.

This is a point I walk from — one
of many. Walk up through the city

to “West Perth”. I think Boorloo,
I think Mooro Katta, I don’t need maps.

And I modelled for this myself,
but possess a distorted self-image.

The weight of social expectation
and the pseudo water-proofing

from the preen gland. I am constructing
a display cabinet around the advertisement.

Not speaking to anyone in particular,
capital chimes-in with a rousing

rendition of utility, falling like moody
homelessness, the imbalance

of “making a living” and surviving
the livings some people make.

Sky subtitles curved an imported idea
of baking local ingredients — cyclopaedias

and yearbooks delivering the confirmation.
To be certain of “our place” we defy angles.

In the reign of… at the time of… in the age of.
A body politic sets the fashion for the use

of local materials in colonial design.
I got dizzy taking in the surroundings.

Layer by layer to get darker, whiter,
to arrange climb and set particles

into patterns. Diplomas. Observation
is moulding and extruding,

is bake in the oven of precedent
brought in to reaffirm stellar

nursery formation — Swithin
St. Cleave got lost travelling south

searching for the Transit of Venus.
But that was prior. Another narrative.

Way way out of the way,
Marseille roof tiling! said the architect

Temple Poole, and the meteorology
flowed. Heritage listings, confused

narratology. So much time spent
in West Perth amongst so much loss.

Lang Hancock oversees
the colonial legacy

that will hang on
like “grim death”.

To drill, baby, drill
is to line dance

across the claims
staked and legalled.

Rotadrill air and dust,
exhalation, inhalation

from Wittenoom
to the stock exchange.

Bitten. Disgorged. Top
of the tailing heap.

Spirit extractor. All the way
from USA where methodologies

stretched back into the timeframe
of assets, prisons, scaffolds.

Machinists. Skillsets. Balance sheets.
The price of self-adoration.

Disparity. Dynastic
prospectives. Interference.

I walked through the display
and was covered in asbestos fibres

but who’s measuring. Paranormal
investigators would refuse

to take up the cause — it might damage
reputations. Plaque, emblem, brag sheet.

A life too close to asbestos in its various
forms is context. Check the back catalogue.

All that iron, too. Super-magnet.
Part of me stuck to the spot.

Spirit photography. Slowed down wail
of class actions. A frame behind high pitch.

Wondering about the belief systems
of the rich, I melt endocrinologically

into the court. But I’ve been reading
the “major declamations” of Quintilian,

which were likely written by various authors.
Some of the cases presented, constructed,

worked over, are particularly extreme.
Reflecting over the fate of country, I see all these

extremes played out even if the tennis-court net
is gone and the court markings have faded.

I say Makuru instead of “winter” out of respect —
I wouldn’t have used this seasonal designation

a quarter of a century ago without permission,
but now, because Noongar words have segued

into broader community speech through Noongar
people rebuilding and sharing their language,

I feel it’s vital to do so. During Makuru
the suburb melts into facsimile and/or

simulacrum. I might have paused
in passing to watch a bit of a game.

I might have thought of European cinema.
Either way, I am listening for cockatoos.

My insect heart inside the rose.
A collector of pollen — dust

in passing or on my jean cuffs.
I have to contribute to my collective.

Eye damage is more than loss
of definition, it’s increase of metaphors.

How many times to see specialists,
to protest, to receive the doctrines.

These reasons we come into a place
temporarily, or stay briefly. The costs.

All images by the author