a niet v pokoji pokoja / there is no peace in peace
 — Andrej Sládkovič, Marina

pushing against the thin walls of the weekend    with all the pent-up sexual energy of
an apology    Sidney’s Defence is an alphabet soup    hunger   & I’m broadcasting my
confession into corporate Australia   sort of like a book but wanting — no – needing  to be
loved back    I hike through overgrown ferns like a thousand welcoming hands   I fear
(10 years in) I may have oversold my love of the outdoors to you    Australian Poetry
see my eyes well up with relatability    the brown onions from your painting become a
sort of French onion soup   a new wave   a final cigarette smoked without ceremony
I’m only outside because our Mubi account declined   when I said it’s not a movie it’s
a FILM   & left    aware how contrived my fingers sound typing this   I aspire to be the
mentos in the coke bottle of cliché      ask my kelpie    she doesn’t care     perhaps
it’s enough to be passing time    in the hypothetical world of a dinner conversation
I cease to exist   drink straight out of my glass   I’m not here    it’s true you can’t spell
“micro-brewery” without “beard oil”      but I digress   shuffling to a mambo   what my
cousins call    secular music   poetry as buying up real estate to say something dark
profound   important one day   for now: may your cherries always be glacé   Keats’
letters are more interesting than his poetry    & equally I’ve spent more time texting
than writing today   I conducted an interview with a subject matter expert using only
“when” questions:   when did you realise   when did you first    when was your last
clearly economic sanctions DON’T work   I made $300 from poetry last year & I’m still
here    poem written on the back of a receipt    manifesto & embargo are the two most
serious words that end in an O    like a balloon bumping against the glass ceiling   my
best creative energy goes into domestic chores    no wonder dinner tastes so horny   go
walk the kelpie   be a tourist attraction   be larger than life    a souvenir    a memento
I would be more concerned if a friend’s search history was full of Hillsong videos than
if it were just regular pornography            call it arse poetica    dining out on this fluky
feeling poetry as in Din Tai Fung   stanzas arrive erratic    & drunk already   we remain 
hungry   confused    based       a fortune cookie with a guilt-free laugh just for you
all my Pandemic Feelings went straight-to-DVD    amid other curio    I was dangling on
the edge of the tax-free threshold       La Niña was throwing its tiny hat in the air
recurring dream where I take a speccy    but wake up & it’s still lockdown       🕊️
*peace dove emoji*    I am using AI to mine the profound from the mundane    like a
poet might    scarf stuck in a tree from a losing team    a policeman in 501s orders a
strong cappuccino      where I’m from if you can’t get a free park in the city you usually
circle around for a while before heading back to the suburbs & marrying your high school 
sweetheart    I’ve let go of my outrage    resolved to be a sleeper cell in hetero-normativity   
as conventional as wisdom       (as useless)     like telling a kelpie to         be careful
cramps in the final quarter    but the best science has to offer is pickle juice    when
pre-coital    when post-coital   & still the rain hasn’t managed to drain the sky
the Bowlo has 4.8 on Google reviews    $5 schooners   pre-inflation parmas
the inner north as one big mesa & I’m cooeeing myself into the canyon   like a crane
that pokes its head above the fog   well that’s progress    this is too technocratic to ever
find its way onto Plumwood Mountain   he was an Uber driver   she was a scuba diver
it’s back to work tomorrow    stop looking up    I’m sorry    but what did you expect?