Blood orange sun burning and tar melts under peach haze while house sails obscure in custard winds coughing hacking strangling to breathe and soft fur faces are singed and bloodied birds falling are like dying while flying like drink driving and trees turn to less cosy fireplaces the kind of charcoal you draw with but all of it petrified lush tall sap and viridian now cigarette chimneys a once fantasy of creepers playing spot the next to barbeque
Three hundred and eighty pilots stranded, a mass whale suicide we can’t talk about the why of it ‘it’s not related’ doesn’t mean it’s not related a rainbow reef now white bone bleak and that forever stuff twisted and choking a six pack of turtles fossils in every gut and the tide keeps washing closer
I don’t want to be here
The kind of anger that has no place to go when His breath stopped breathing and the blues yelled checkmate while their ivory pieces still patterned the board a polarised state with a Grand Canyon cutting like magnets not photos but you can’t look away because it’s on replay chasms in the chest blood blooming flowers just running or watching tv it’s a colour contradiction like fluorescent orange and hair pieces and I wish flowers would bloom on his chest instead
Stop the boats and make Australia white again a globe so admiring as it’s fiercely anti black normalise catastrophe like how brown people in tents on borders is normal like how begging for permission to live is normal like how fracturing histories of ancient people is normal when there’s that shiny rainbow black stuff at the end of it bleeding heads against brick wall conversations train tracks down faces and banshee screams and crushing doors splits in foundations between generations roots rotting and decaying and festering but fungus growing at least the worms will be happy
You don’t belong here either
Does Covid count as SHTF has the Shit Hit The Fan yet maybe we should prep our store rooms like how I know how to can meat now but I wish conspiracy theories didn’t normalise nazism I’d almost believe them the interstellar lizards stealing wealth and power but not Silurians is almost easier like the audacity that Jeff has enough dollars to fix it but I guess he’s a lizard too don’t get confused with fiction like the apocalypse could be stopped with a Scooby gang and a school of explosives
But it’s not just that it’s all of it the whole burning lot of it I keep checking for jellyfish stings or nightmares like that’s why I’m a sack of anxiety and I stare at my veins like they’ll strangle me, and like my breath on the window is a parasite And I wonder where the lie is when it’s daily and why the tragedy insists on being normalised the stars keep getting heavy and the future feels like nowhere
I don’t think I belong here but there’s nowhere else to go
