this is not a poem
this is not a song
these are all the things
we did when we were young
this is not my story
this is not my tongue
some of the following is true
only the words have been changed
to protect the poetry:
do you remember
when it rained poems
all those wasted tomes
lurching from spent ink
on generic paper
our new bodies
designed by automatic tellers
all the fake news
and invisible words
trained like stunning systems
on the shadow shafts
of vacant stars drifting slow
across our stunned faces
as if they were metaphors
as if they were AI
on the down-low
as if they were literally words built
for a self-harming methodology
your new-skool chat-box
dead-time technology
this self-fulfilling anthropocene
malware prophecy
we spoke tall tales on the daily
the static, yet dynamic infection of us
and so we rise
and speak to the power
launch ourselves into the sunrise
like missiles into the face of god
and take 5
remember when it rained fire
and we staggered steep
into the burning street
to catch the capital flames
no matter the effort
we couldn’t save those ornate frames
from the twisted wreckage
and crackling embers
thrusting our porcelain poems
our gentle protest songs
woven from fine china
and traffic lights
making mental notes
to tear at the razor wire
to throw ancient stones
at perspex homes
like dancing in empty carparks
in our hospital gowns
and armchair satisfaction
can i get some?
so we trapped every student
in primary cages
forced their bright songs
into naïve white pages
swapped concrete trees
for vegan glass
and they dropped like burning notes
to the wet wet grass
but we gathered and wove neon stories
into the café night
like it was 1968 without a flak jacket
like it was before the bullets hit us in the back
like it was fremantle on a weeknight
take 5
remember when it rained blood
and we swam in the deep red streets
singing about god and descartes
pretending we never actually existed
crafted by you from inside
this nursery rhyme rebellion - for you
before your buildings crumble
to the bitumen extinction - for you
crushing more than just dreams
on a westbound freeway - for you our
bodies break like bouncing dolls
from a car window to the fractured curb - for you
and the putrid black ash
fills our lungs in the sunlight
in the hashtag moonlight
in the halogen instagram glare
back then we pointed to the absolute shock
of product placement
we drank the heavy, heady night
and drowned the weak
like we loved them so much
take 5
remember when we set fire to the cars
like they were symbols
of the only choice
between wealthy representatives
of the privileged classes
we ran, leaping in bleeding packs
from the authority stacks
we watched their belts strain
under the ordinary executive stresses
we smelt paint melt in the violent stars
as they collapsed into dead oceans
we spilt wine on the white lines
of the blackest roads
to get from there to here
and we calculate benign tumors
as the self-driving vehicles write pamphlets
to read in waiting rooms
before funeral sex-toy jesuses
and all those guys with guns and crosses
deep inside bibles and spectacular dresses
to tell us how to do life
without vast databases
filled with revenge porn
and she said: when your sex is a crime
people are products of power
of data centres
and recycled plastic children
roaming the planet
drunk on loss
take 5
remember when we bought cases
of hollow-point home-brew beer at work
we sold token piss in goon-bags blues
singing a crimson kind of rude-boy blues
to the middle class management blues
in helmet headed blues
heard the red tails tell banksia stories
squawk high from the hot, dry empty sky
from the whadjuk coastal plains
of homelessness, of habitat deaths
as if we lost our mojo
binging in the 24/7 cycle of hell
swallowed all the netflix beautification projects
a remote argument
and the noongar gleefully gentrify
our fabricated hearts
as we sleep inside street clothes
our uniforms burn brightly
shopping trolleys trolling
our only friends are cyber-bullies
and we toasted our beautiful bosses
and thanked them profusely
for giving us permission
to hand them their holy profit
they waltzed on our bare necks
like the spirit of anzac
the lord’s prayer ghost
of superannuation biscuits
when the gideon's kept us up at night
unable to shake off the pent-up energy
of an MDMA narrative
and we watched
as she dreamed
from the latest version
on this gorgeously scarred
stolenwealth land
take 5
remember when we stole petrol from passing cars
and made molotov cocktails to throw at the freight trains
remember when we set fire to the car yards
remember when we set fire to our flags
watching the polyester stars turn grey
the national flames licking the edges
of acceptable protest
faking our own deaths in streets
without plummeting correctly to our demise
denying the masters in suits
and pointless ties
the sweet sound of global economy
choking us on balconies of corporate fuck
and we dissolve like sugar
in limited edition collectable cola glasses
as if art had any potential
to change any of the things that hurt us
remember when we were banned from tv
for hanging flags from our amps
remember when you shut down consumer society
with a noise poem remember
remember when killing god with skinny fists was fashionable – like us
and the church imploded under the weight of perpetual violence – like us
remember when we tore at our own stupid walls outside detention centres – like us
in the desert dust and the forest rust – like us
when children drank shampoo and lips were sown – like us
remember as those leaders groan
and blame the broken
and we spoke random
about the end of joy
of the end of poems
the end of this one
this is done
take 5
take care
- This poem was performed with the classic jazz standard: Take 5 by Dave Brubeck Quartet, 1959
- Written and performed for Dirtymouth 11 in Freo - September 11 2019