recent stuff by allan boyd - antipoet

in birak
this western sun hurts
some seeking reasons
not to ever live here
without a chorus
of aircon hum
this is Wadjuk country
at fire time, fruiting season
as always, there’s talk
of shifting to melbourne
or hobart
over a beer
another beer mate?

in the old days they
set flame to country
 a mosaic of management
and always, and still
that thick dark easterly at 5am
a long cello note
like a hair-dryer in your face

Here's a coupla poems I submitted to a local Zine:

you have this memory, aged 7 perhaps,
in the sleepout and tucked in, your brother

can taste freo in the plastic, as she burns
and spectacular gild sunsets, sand in toes

a breath away across the lino,
and you have the scene before, counting

can’t ever trip on concrete-pitted knee-high walls
painted mission brown, now mission purple

cowboys in the bricks, Dad on the piano
with the hymns for the week, and you have

it’s a dangerous light near the surface. is-
lands. drawn out silence. and like sails in my hands.

prints finger across the brown disconnect of sinew
his boldness saliva in fencepost diatribe, measure

these habits. frail spring afternoon. does not meet
my eyes. gnarled. netted with shadows. a mess of

negative procession, a progression of drive-thru
meaning. droplets on geraldton wax (chamelaucium)

ripples. the ebb, forecast of loss. using my
own words. hands twitching the jetsam. Verticals