this
(suspended) spring morning (it is the city)
wondering
what I'm still doing here,
what
this land means
beyond
the flag and the flatulence.
Media
missiles cruise into the living room
-
search and destroy thought -
telling
us over and over everything's okay.
Help! Helicopter lifesavers, snatch us
from
this flooded island mini-series
of
denied yearning
for
somersaults of death and beauty,
kamikaze
comedians.
It
is no time for levity,
no
time for introspection either
as
relentless sparrows announce sunny Saturday
(no
haiku please) in Sydney,
named
after the maggot-headed politician
as
Ruth Park said.
Blacked-out
computer screens, invisible icons,
edit
me, quick!
Powering
through, am I still powering through?
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