Published in Overland Issue 209 Summer 2012 Uncategorized transit of venus Marty Hiatt standing on top of the helicopter counting the bristles of my toothbrush i look down but not back for with precision instruments we’re raked a vision of my next career move pins my eyes but it turns out to be just another thundercloud to hack through like one more enemy toad gliding past black n red wreckages in whose erstwhile spans we’re serried as one — whether baggage attendant pilot or stag beetle we kiss one another’s lofty bitumen with creaking lips my lust for diesel is becoming a problem n water’s too hard though other possible arcs are continually amassing like almond milk or intratelluric menses that help me through the dilation of the monsoon season lulled by so many engines n alien dialects about the garbage press the circular koan foreseen by the oracle composes itself trips on a splattered helmet pronouncing radio static that implores me to return to my neglected duties to world’s best practice rooftop dining, silt deposits n jubilant mastication mammoth concerns devour one another in the lagoon i’ll have to leave the slack-water revert to aerobic status even as the advancing front engulfs what little oxygen i’d extracted n carried through suns set at 9am after peak hour broke its banks damaging conveyors n other infrastructure it is time to pick up my thighs from the dry-cleaners. no cash so steam torture in its stead platoons flush by too quick to indict though silken families stranded on the pontoon compliment my figure, at once offering their condolences n implying the loss was worth it all told but their countenances turn with my shoulder in the application window tread on the heads of the buoyant while distilling new perfumes to compliment the scum of enslavement i frankly didn’t lack a post (i’ve blades) but to run with the exhumed midst manifolds lengthens the spinal casing improves bee fertility n at time of writing no synthetic substitute has yet appeared on the open market then so spruced, break left, set course for high-voltage transmission lines for the great axis has at last been precisely determined. they’re winking as adult themes in children’s books but to whom? so am i: not even the blind could miss em Marty Hiatt Marty Hiatt is a Melbourne poet currently based in Berlin. More by Marty Hiatt Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays First published in Overland Issue 228 1 December 20221 December 2022 Reviews Calling the racist a racist: Janaka Malwatta’s blackbirds don’t mate with starlings John Kinsella Malwatta is a skilled and motivated user of tone and tonality in expression, and he shifts between perpetrator and victim with a disturbing but powerful ease: we hear the racists in the hospital, we hear them at the barbecue, and we hear the racism coming from the mouths of white leaders and dissemblers. First published in Overland Issue 228 30 November 202230 November 2022 Politics The return of public power to Victoria? Zacharias Szumer The newly elected Andrews government has promised to bring public ownership of electricity back to Victoria. However, there are no immediate plans to reinstate the public utility model that prevailed through much of the twentieth century. Rather, a publicly owned renewables company will operate within an electricity market shaped by decades of neoliberal reform.