4 bits that may or may not end up going somewhere


Goths are having a séance 

in the Cubby House at Bunnings.  

There are Skinheads in the Potting Mix.

Hipsters cook cow penises

at the sausage sizzle. Lowest

prices are just the beginning.     




Epistemological, Ontological …

I look these words up

every six months.

But I still don’t know

what they mean, not really.

Couldn’t define them if asked.

I think it’s something like

How do I know

that what I know

is what I know?

I dunno. Maybe if Noel Coward

turned it into a song  

I’d start to understand.




Her poems are never ending

compendiums of comparison,

like pin cushions for similes.


Yes, it’s a nice poetic device.

But you don’t have to detonate it,

like a cluster bomb, at every line




There’s a hobo living in the Big Potato.

They can’t evict him,

though it’s made of asbestos.

But he doesn’t care about OH & S.

Someone’s sprayed a dick and balls

on the big prawn

the big banana just got smaller

the big koala is angry

at the crowds drawn by

the big lump of coal

and the big jet ski

and the Big Clive Palmer, with

the café in its head, is looking shabby,

its eyes chewed out by cockies.



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