glinting triggers cocked

making the axe seem blunt
we dressed like sex, for change
pushing embryonic cells
to the western brink

gargling each other's saliva
we waited for the next wave
of orgasm screech, a cannon

then I'm perched at the neck
reasoning with yr godless particles
knocking up the pedal a notch
busting gallipoli rhymes
at the wallpaper seams

yr level-headed, red-blooded mouth
yr blue heelers heeling
held like arms folded
twisted at the knees
bent at the ankle
up to the shoulders
in smog

our elbows of swollen back welts
yr nipples dipped
in wax, my mother
an empty canteen

improvising life
instead of
living it

---

poem for twisty's zine

Blac Blocs Lyrics: GOVERNMENT

Traffic filters in through the open front door
You can find me wasted on the kitchen floor
Gotta lotta empty bags but I want some more
I want some more

Get stoned, get drunk every fucking weekend
Zips down, dicks out, pissin on the back fence
Glass on the backline, cousins at the defence
I want some more

Hey little sister sick of livin on dead time
Hey little sister gotta take it to the frontline

Got a letter from the Government
the other day

Truck full of law keep kickin at the back door
Bang Bang Bangin at the fascist flaws
I gotta lotta close friends but I want some more
I want some more

Don't stop fuckin shit up on the weekend
Wake up face down, brick through the TV
Get real, stand up, shoutin at the beaches
I want some more

Hey little sister sick of livin on dead time
Hey little sister gotta take it to the frontline

Got a letter from the Government the other day

What you gotta fine in the letter
Don't believe the hype

www.blacblocs.com

Poems from the dotdotdash magazine launch

dot dot dash dot dot dash…EE EE TEE - EE EE TEE
duck duck dash dot dash duck duck dash dot dot dash
anybody got any hash - leave yr tattered garments at the door
didya see a finch at the window
the zephyr of morning wordscapes
at the sunrise meltdown of letters n shapes
more meat than mel and koshy
more red guts than a butcher shop
bigger than the fattest zine dream
theres prizes bursting at the seam
here we are now entertain us
not lonely in wallpaper houses - the pressed flower at my feet
with the wine talk the scratched page
the uttered prints a stint at the carpark methadone
more perth than a mantle-piece,
extra ducks on the wall
saying dot dot dash - ee ee tee - duck duck dash

---

ladies and gentlemen - children and mothers
sisters n brothers - people of the street
masters of the concrete - listen up - tonight
here I am: simulating the missing mantra
stimulating the stone-washed pens
the busted strings n fur-balls of my mind
staring stoned, at these flowers
these flowers growing outta my stereo
like marvel comic bastards in the garden
wishing I had more broken oreos
than a stereo stereo
right here at the brink of an orgy
our scattered clothes, a trail of wicked blisters
a Eritrean Gretsch bandit, crammed in with it
smashed on dylan n biscuits, a painted bowie on rollies
some extra bits n pieces of a colour-wheel hi-fi
a rosemount lo-fi
like a cocaine narrative
a psychedelic bandit
seeking smiles and rhymes for a special kinda jesus-wear
a munted baby in the cradle of rock
a stereo flower - a flower of stereos
a flurry of collected animals
like bassendean on bin night
yes! this is stereoflower…

-------

boys boys boys - boys boys boys - I love you
ooooh like a love love letter to yr cheeky little sister
hoping you never missed her
pull my little pinky baby
at a gig near the park
a neon glow stick in the dark
a so so so disco virtuoso of ticky ticky boom boom
licking you like a lolly pop fluoro sandwich
an endless tube of fruit tingle-ingle-ingles
getting more from this colour-pop bandwith
listen Lovie, I got a brand new super nintendo
bib bop
like a facebook friendo
ripped up on the pope's electro
and I feel like a liquorice allsort again
are you sad or are you useless,
are you mad or are you pleasant
like a pussy on roids, a pussy cat meow
here puss puss puss
can I revel in yr ticky ticky boom
yr slicky trippy room
can I test yr levels
yr polka dotted pirate mash
pardon my rabid rampant ranting bash
but my wife - she's gonna kill you
here are the boys
the boys the boys
boys boys boys

--------

performed poems at the dotdotdash mag launch Sep 4 09 - Rosemount Hotel

rehearsalistic:

canning blac blocs ballistic
sharp fuck shredding attempts
a narrative of sonic fences
overdrove fender bash-core
a punk of polar reverb
a cymballic carn
a rendering of rockery
like banished crockery
we sing to the raining traffic

overloader

you/me - not branding them semiotic ranters

our stolen skin way too pink
in the southern city of 21st century ravers

we're rolling up sonic maths in graf-alley werd-speak
an eventual suspicious tanking - and spot rain
like the delicious smell of petrol morning radicals

fuck the barrel of conspiracy man - a breathy mist
yr editorial theologies of pvc suns n guns n drums

mate: am i a festival of bionic spasticity?
for fucks sake: an archaic spanner man

a folk mansion - a new kinda god
a face full o' neologism - mammoth shit-cake

but hey, i'm three ahead of the footy-tipping six-pack
a flat-bread truck-stop outside maccas
waiting for a mark, in the carpark dark
the full-back brisk - a fifty metre penalty

woah

now we're thick-ripped torso
the fattest bicep shine in september sky
23 minutes into the final term grass

this verse penetrating the flank baby
a point - a dance
in the mexican wave
of scarves...


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http://www.overloadpoetry.org/