No alarms

Give the brigalows time to impersonate metal. Fold the final
reminders like bed sheets. Ignore the echoes. Are you revolted
the right way? Mosquito into the tidiest corruptions. Zap. Soak
the stains. Ear against the wall, diagnose water hammer. Put
the email address here if you are sending a copy you do not
want the other recipients to see. It’s always home time somewhere
but don’t tell anyone. Come bearing data. Using techniques, never live
it down. Somewhere a landlord is kissing another landlord. Please
clap. Consider the executive sated. Boil the kettle. Pour the tea.
Prayer for meteorites. Oblivion coldens quickly when there is no-one
to take a photo. Steam tentacles stopping in the air. Nobody actually
knows how to count to ten. Fake it ‘til you make it. Quake-happy fault
lines at the edge of the whole disgusting sky. Please clap. Not tired.
Just playing with my eight-ball eyes. Misery during the work shirt
donning process. Head hole problems before breakfast. A cursed
nexus. Tfw it’s Thursday all day. The best part of being stuck in traffic
on your way home from work is being late to the work you have to do
for work after work. Clouds standing sentinel with their rain bodies above
Old Guildford. The sky is about to happen. Please clap. Would you
say your depression has a purpose? The air might be air-conditioned
but who is ringing the bell? Ignore the previous email. This meal needs
a nap. Please remember me to your boss and payroll manager. Dead leaves
on the bonnet. New window wipers work. Couldn’t sleep because dreams
were movies that kept rewinding. Running early for once. Do yourself
a favour and don’t. Please clap. Do X number of things for Y number
of means. Portending the spectre of an ending, remember to send me
your bank account details for dinner. Emit an electricity of unshakeable
compliance until the dawn of a new contract. Slurp. Slurp. Locomotion
and food and why. False mirror enabled. So on and so forth. What is
the warmest document type? What is the reverse of a chandelier? Is it
fern spores? Submission without the act of submission. Ten days sick
leave. A multiplicity of forces with no discernible origin. The doctors
will call this a way of being on medication. Reports are due. No time
to grieve for lost futures. TGIF. Please clap.


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Dan Hogan

Dan Hogan (they/them) is a writer and editor from San Remo, NSW (Awabakal and Worimi Country). They currently live and work on Dharug and Gadigal Country (Sydney). Dan's debut book of poetry, Secret Third Thing, was released by Cordite in 2023. Dan’s work has been recognised by the Val Vallis Award, Judith Wright Poetry Prize, and XYZ Prize, among others. In their spare time, Dan runs small DIY publisher Subbed In. More of their work can be found at:

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