surfboard

the spreadsheet confirms the harbour’s

out of reach, formulae checking formulae

you encounter, then reflect. imagine

a bay built out of bookcases, washed up

down the south coast, bedraggled &

marsupial, cracking tinnies & rejecting

doctrine. it sounds like a plan if you put it

like that. milestones, timelines, now smoke

yourself silly & dribble on the cheque –

they’ve seen it all before. imagine the

snapshot less taken. all that crap you

remember. out on the patio tiny frogs

are camping. surfboard. wilderness society.

you woke up & could touchtype? no shit?

another conversation transmitted to posterity.

of course you were hoping for altered states,

or something less conditional. right.

reprising your contingencies. surfboard.

bookcases. the spreadsheet confirms.

franchisee, revisited

where the heart beats backwards, incredulous,

your music box replays its greatest hit &

all those beautiful lawyers we used to see on tv

book their time against the media

revolution, hoping their blogs are admissible.

not guilt-free, your honour, but now featuring

less carcinogens & 100% cartoon bad guys,

like china without the backing of the IOC.

now they’ve seen the bright lights, how you

gonna keep ‘em down on the server farm?

after the marriage dissolves into advertorial

you drive for days through deserted towns,

shoji tattered in the wind. i figure it’s

kind of pre-post-apocalyptic. either way,

it’s clearly not us. no way we could share

a car for that long without starting a family.