24 Hours on Poetry (2002)

I

Poetry: why?

A methodology of complaint.

Dirge for smashed flowers?

Rain droplet tilting a mirror up to all these
pushing colours of life?

Your lounge room window... or maybe no windows in
the future you wake in?

Flow.

A why or a wherefore? I mean, this task
of shadowcatching is underappreciated &
abused, like only the dead & the deaf
are abused.

Envy. Of foreparents fighting wars on behalf
of someone, anyone.

No city views from here.
Foresight; undersight, oversight;
wondersight, loversight. Oversite,
undersite; coversight,
thundersite...

Commercial-free.

Une raison de vivre; une liason de vivre.

Mes frères, mes soeurs; mes pères, mes mères!

Mon frère, ma soeur; mon père, ma mère!

Choissez va famille!

Play. I will watch.


II

Poetry: what is?

Magnum of pinpricks for the sleep-deprived.

Help me to tell you a pretty nothing.

If I lose you, take this string, tie it
around your scarred ankle, tread the wet
floating leaves to the exit.

Quit looking for the Minotaur. He left.

I tell my girlfriend she reminds me of my
sister. I don't have a sister.

Sit-down comedy for populism-challenged
agèd fustics.

I don't care. But I do.

Are you drinking wine? I like wine,
the evening dreams like a baby, the hangover
is fossicking bag for torch, the fog.

Dark jewel, the surface understands no
light.

Disjointed chemicals.

Breakfast.

I think we're busy. We don't sleep
much.

What is poetry made out of?