Paddling over a wave, fresh & bracing as 
                        the bright green Pacific
                            strips out 
                   the crust of a late late night's synaptic 
       accretion on The Blow, half an E

                                   "O The Ladies
                 splayed lines' " hibiscus panorama 
                    under stars, at the Cross 

       See a mate wave to uniformd mates, laugh
                               away salt eyes
                               lucky bastards got no 
   sleep up to the eyeballs 
                          in energetic 'bust' work 
                                    after partying! 
            what a job 
                      smashed above it on 
                   the
                                                set!
 
 

 To be sun light here, clean 
                                           sharp water again 
                        each musculature breath wide 
                                                    for the vast torso, if it be truth

            I will, this run & dawning
                                             metal hot from cold boiling water
                      foam and gull's solitary bow-sprit

        (O The Facts, lost city over plains over 
                                  untakable ridges of apartments
                                        sleeping in the wind 
                   in the first winter light)
 
 

                I will be born of the self my small bird to strike the pejorative surface
                                              more than a wing a knife 
                                   for carving out crisp substance from air
 
 

From their lawless, adrenaline 
                                         sleep, impossibly wilful 
                            the scar bred ladders work
              dance beyond smoke
 
 

                                              on mirrors on the take
          at The Cauldron,  Sugar Reef,  Byblos 
                                     cheap lines at Liberty
                                                  Lunch
                    discrete serpents 
                               coiled in the hands 
                  of the barista

                          Defined by a nation's murderous containment 
                     of beauty
                                    the .38 Smith & Wesson jerks
          their everlasting brands of limbic 
                               permission
 
 

       Aroused by momentum & wash, daylight's 
                           courageous freaks
                                         jog the Pavilion concourse
                 catch breath, a tender vista pushed to the verge 
                                    recoiling, unsuitable heaven's 
                         silver flash, false 
                                      cry      as if some human frailty 
                            frees apprehension
        synchs four pops interleaved by primordial mp3
                                        work-out counsel
 
 

It's toward the old water we go, faltering
                      hot metal swept to allusion, stamens of flesh
                                     must despair that wind 
        struggling alone is not possibly a future, 
                         momentarily covetous
                                 of all kindred people's imagined land mass
             stretched planetary, westerly over suburban 
                             arteries of rage 
Not permitted are the gold 
                      wool the crustaceous spires 
           a freeway's evaporate capital dispersing 
                        at the margins
                                      the last end the visible desert & spinifex, more 
                sea wrapped voluptuous pain rushing 
                                 backward into sun
 
 

& reflected in eyes, the last seen
                yearning jealous of love 
     as if Law could, just 
                            tear an axis from the root of the groin, flower 
                in the blood, stomach pit lit by 
                                              the sum flash
                               where ruined chords, meaningless debt
                     & the heart's corrupt rancour
               spin quiet morning as white as commodity
                                                       only few souls come so near upon
 
 

                                                  This threshold of waste.
                  As your hands grasp glitter 
                                  slugs of wet Bondi sand
                             & unaltering winged salt chills plenitude
              on your tongue
                                   what will love be now, what will flood lungs

             Clouds blazing with betrayal, darkness
                                      in the shell by your ear 
                                 coiled again
                                            as the wide free ocean there between us, 
                our civilisation & your day's 
                                      brisk gaining, then leaving out 
                                              strength as 
                                                           heaven was not this 
                                       nowhere, eyes filling so 
                                                with their own 
                                                          shit.