ROBOT DOBBIN

some days
my own thoughts
bore me to tears

or would

if my parched organs

could spare the saline

~

& stuff i say sometimes

jesus christ its so freaking

default & vanilla & nothing

its like my intellect

was 3d printed yesterday

~

so here i am

a retired robot dobbin

wondering about trepanning

& the myth of good sleep

 

FENCED GLEN

the big tele
its violent stories
& repackaged myths

& when i step out
on the crunch of leaves
any legend is possible

i have food to scatter
for the wild animals

we know here

in our fenced glen
of central planning
carpenter forest

COVID POPLING

 & 
 underhand 

 underdesk 

 underchecked 

 foul fuckery 

 will show 
 by xmas 

 in those 
 money market markers 

 of 
 confidence number myth 

 & 

 the used up canaries 

 uncaged now 

 well they can no longer sing 

from amust.com.au

COLD BABY DREAMS

       i dreamed 
   of a new years eve 
in a deep indigo forest

 me  ridgwell  a whole bunch of us writingslobs 

  unsettled and itching
  riding warm air updrafts 
into a rich 
        blue 
         cloudless night 

 drifting up almost close enough to the stars 
          to know 
      if theyre the worn holes in black velvet
  where the light 
      of a kind of lost heaven 
 filters thru 
  like a tease

we all have soft palm pod screens 
they roll open like vine leaves
     we share 
     haikus around 
     like wine

  or something similar to haikus - they were experimental 

          of course

           and 
  heavy on accurate punctuation

i struggled to finish mine
unable to find the right last line
     about the planets 
  being the dead used fossils 
    of the old gone gods

we found a baby up there

  a sky boy 

   he is 
like a magic boy we said
   he is 
like a superman boy we said

we all wrote it all down in our vine leaves
   heavy on accurate punctuation
   and we took turns 
  to keep him warm 
    inside our coats 
      as we flew him down 
        to get a foil blanket
          from 
          the 
  st johns ambulance team
     parked 
     by 
     the 
   tea and scone tent

in the clearing is a wedding
crowded and cramped and crazy
in the deep indigo forest night

someone has done something bad there
we felt the friction of it singe the air

 and all the trees outside the arguments
  are gold like cake decorations
 and the mad seagreen monsters
     with kind donkey eyes 
        are 
 lined up on wooden benches
    patiently waiting a turn
    at something
  we cant yet see

and us writingslobs are sky bound again
aiming for the sky holes again

     vainglorious 
   like a race in myth

pic from bolgernow.com

I AM THE CAPTAIN

i feel a flow now

the
flow
of
myth

the flow often spoken about
in college canteens and late night
high
philosophy
jags

everyone bright eyed with possibility
while
i
looked at the carpet and the floor 
not feeling the waters direction at all
wilfully
stagnant
in my own black pool

now i step aboard the small boat
and
call to the captain
but theres no captain there - i am the captain !

i
sit
back
all calm and quiet eyed
and
let the rudder eddy its overdue path 
down
stream