We’re writing 90 degrees with spinal vertebrates
And thorns in our sheets ,
Spelt out deadlines with funnelled lining in stomach acid
like how many times can we spell things out and attempts for twenty percent
for fivers  like                     Good Lord Christ

 

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FUCK vegans!!!!!

We are not children anymore, she said
and We can stay up but rise awake knowing of consequence
You thumb numbers and pinky finger
enter, scroll-scroll
and fiddle “Hi”s with email signatures from
overseas Idon’tknowthat’s where My ear drums stopped
in my back porch comparing 

operating systems.

so We don’t have time for breakfast or brunch. but check alarms
and wait for the fifth one. half-eyed and
overwhelmed until the evening sun

I think I’m losing My arms, losing my Tangles as They

knot

greenlipped

things can be short for once , you and i for once
collect bottles of hot sauce we organize by township
count paypass identified by wrist flicks
spoonfuls of red in table measurements
elbows over sinks sponge clutching
and they say scrub, and wait till it opens
tap once to retreat otherwise death sentenced
liquid circling
and this is extremely zoomed in
with no lid
and seaside serpents, fresh food peoplin’
i take a call and complain about the self-service line
other route haze in a past year autumn time
draped in inauguration
frozen section
this is a degree i have not discovered in darkness
and i wonder how the cat is, if the cage’s extended
swing in the stripes and ash between the deck sides
oil in the wok and lightly pan fried

four thousand and–

here is a song, drenched in sweet sunshine
your  footsteps
in our borders
that overlooks three, four, and it shows
and it beeps. in every gocard tap it hits
in every junction
all the soft bougainvilleas combed
and your mother’s natural rock garden
bed walls. and your sister the rose
when we’re literal
with autumn reserved for lovers
and leaving all our friends
tell me we don’t need them
we can build homes with coopers pale
emptied and ash out the windowsill.
you can kiss my eyelids and i can feel
not small again. lack of p-plates
with just feet conquering hills.
so it’s my hair that’s longer now
we don’t have to
pick up secondhand ikea
from the streets of clayfield, anymore
and know i love you from the courtyard
of the church to the hospital’s, your
card won’t work.
i wish we had a copy of daytripper each
and maybe both on our thighs, but it’s
okay. it’s fine

phone notes 2

how does it feel like now with
clipped toenails and
hair growth. a 365 revolution for sure
sales stint triple halved    effort
how do we write in paragraphs,     orange
and red intertwined  i almost mouthed
a dead name star in white gas  not supernova
in sunken hollows of movie seats with Ryan Gosling the
jazz pianist.   we  ride in the backseat of your roommate’s
car and i’m finally not scared in your roommate’s car
and don’t panic and make mistakes and take time and
buy superglue.  for the circles that overlap
so stop hanging out with people from my school
and their brothers. normie friends with sail croatia
ventures.     we  sit  on the steps of your birthday boy’s
queenslander and think of the sun staying back a bit later
holding hands in four thousand five
think of when   it knocked off early for me to partake in
grilld betrayal. brand unloyal. lamb wasn’t so bad and you get
50% off but always 100% for me

our narcissism

(i)
we sat in the darkness and laughed
and sneered.
this is what i wanted but it’s not quite that anymore
when it was
us against
the world
and fell in love through
a mutual anger and jealousy born out of
sadness?misery?displacement
out of      these people aren’t like us
and we are not like them.
and i wonder
how it never occurred to me that i would eventually
end up like him like it was already          designed

(ii)
make it two gin and tonics, please.
hold  each  other    in a  place
where my worries aren’t tunnel visioned into  the
drained out empathy reservoirs   convinced of existing
because that’s what i’ve been told and it hurts sometimes
but i don’t remember   so we sit
and fight over who’s better looking
and plan outfits and match docs
and fit aesthetics and it’s fine
talk shit in cinemas with
harsh critiques   it levels out   and
it’s so nice
to not be nice

(iii)
plus one to all my socials and
awkward and unsure and trudges through,
not tiptoe. but i’m not embarrassed anymore
when we walk down that strip in brunswick and it’s
2 am   the people stare when they can see    the sparks
in the hand-hold
in interlocked fingertips and
mildly sweaty palms-    that
distant look, mutual, like,  only single people go to the valley
and there could be somewhere else we’d rather be
wait in line for a kebab but my youth would skin me
call it         a shawarma.   please.
when everybody else in this line  are    (mostly white)
single males   who look the same and
we hold hands and let them know
when it’s against counters at press and strangers tell us
we’re pretty fucking cute        sit on the grass
to get out of surcharge and know i’ve had practice
like us on the way home from palace  aren’t we getting older
good enough for love between car dealerships