Issue 13: January 2007
Simon Barraclough | Dean K Farrow | Valerie Josephs | John Stiles | Tim Wells | Dean Wilson
DEAN K FARROW
As two dingoes howling at the moon
When Super Nunga Man,
awesome,
under the constellation:
Ring tailed possum sitting atop a blazing bough of light,
beautiful,
teams up with Redback Spider Man,
good value,
to tackle the Adelaide underworld
it's gonna be a hot time in the ol' town tonight,
but there are questions
"Hey Spidey", Super Nunga Man asks,
"where's the web come from mate and
what happens to the stuff you leave behind
dangling from them buildings and that?"
Haiku
Haiku I hate you
You make me puke you do
In my shoe a hole.
Haiku II
Haiku I hate you
You make me puke you do
In my a hole a shoe.
Jim liked to talk about snow
Watch out where the huskies go…
Jim would say, quoting Frank,
not Scarlett's namesake
nor the chairman of the board,
but the mustachioed Frank,
father of Dweezle and Moon Unit, whose name
Chicken and Ange had been discussing one day
on the eve of parenthood, discussing, as you do,
boys' names, monikers for the future heir,
Chicken had suggested Moon Unit as a good and possible boy's name
"Don't be ridiculous" Ange had quipped, "Moon Unit's a girl's
name",
…and don't you eat that yellow snow
Like trying to balance a full pint of lager on a thin length of green
silk thread held taut by two butterflies flying away from one another, the
thread clenched between each butterfly's teeth
That's
L
O
V
E
love,
baby
Standing on Blackfriars Bridge I worry about falling off and ending chained to one of the old railway bridge pylons exchanging banter with those in the city of the dead.
The meticulous double stitching
of my brand new black Harrington
is unravelling.
I roll the exposed fabric between my thumb
and forefinger:
We trawled the banks of river Thames
mud-flats at low tide,
searching for fragments of clay pipe.
Mud entrapped your foot,
right brown suede boot
never again the same.
I just stood, looked
until, no longer able to hold,
laughed, and laughed.
We made pub,
limped squelching foot under
table nearest door.
You vodka,
me beer,
left.
I concern about forearm,
meticulous double-stitching
unravelling, cold.
The starlings are nesting again in the 15" naval guns outside
the Imperial War Museum
Loading themselves for take-off,
starlings have breeched themselves,
nested and ready for spring.
Human cannonballs of the
bird world, the young will fall and
flutter and fly,
not like Zazel,
the first female human
cannonball, who by all accounts
broke her back during one of her
performances and spent the rest
of her life in a back brace
(she was fourteen),
but blent as starling and bumblebee
combined flying action acrobatics.
It's the darnedest thing, but
starlings roosting in big guns
remind me of busybody
circus angels making some
point about clichés.
Well, okay, I do like 'Duel'
You,
having made it quite clear throughout the length
of the entire film,
that it,
and by this I mean the whole experience,
including the upset that three unruly youths had caused at dinner earlier,
before the film,
was not to your taste and therefore I,
having brought you to this pit of hell,
you mentioned Dante,
but what do I know of he,
that I,
you repeated,
was,
in cahoots with all involved to ruin this very special day.
I,
having felt rough all evening had not even wanted to come out at all,
trying my utmost to please,
and we all know how easy
that can be at these,
shall we say,
uneasy moments,
muttering to myself as though a friend were nearby and able to offer solace,
keeping my hangover to myself lest it be used against me,
besides not even liking
Saint Stephen fucking Spielberg,
dodging fights with the aforementioned three unruly youths,
didn't know,
and I'm not going to say it again,
it was your birthday.