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.
