Invasion (Derek Motion)

Posted on August 21, 2010 by in Heightened Talk

 

1

 

we’re phantasmagoric & over fed square (post eco parking post

an ill-thought dumplings ploy & the odour of spilling soy)

even to interiors breasting a ship’s plushie aspect, mounting

layer upon player so as to ply a drink with waving departure

 

one small glass. the slops still a veritable ambrosia

toes rocking above head level

still, you sleep.

 

a big steam breakfast the instinct to knowingness,

else timelessness, it’s all appropriate. only one image lures

you past alternate fog (westerly):

 

a ponderous sea dragon growing without effort.

(mottled pink & supreme in having time-to-think)

it’s so unlike us all, so worthy of permanent capture,

meditative study.

 

with such fitful poise I’d grace

any maccas carpark.

 

 

2

 

 

another fist of views means, erratically, you’re au fait

with the ice danger – ‘views’ lack speed indicators,

all twists & turns simply set to parallel all things,

all the time. I think in bytes. you know, inspired, irate,

worried, inspired… we crest a township to find a cottage &

drag the strip. come on! observe this stodgy boat ramp &

kids ranting lysergic fishing lore. (oh, later: the ethics

of fish & chips vs. local ale) slabs of information

dot each pier even through our coverage blackspot.

 

electric-blanket-land stirs a temporary love affair,

& this adam sandler movie set amidst ‘coastlines’,

only half dismaying in its todayness, its watchability.

 

get into the straightest of passages: tercentennial ferry

to a site of industry / brunch over the car & re-pack the run

off.

rod slam & scooter blitz into the back of a good showering –

ample views of life, hills, unscrupulous poetry to an audience

fighting back dadaist southern life (hence the flagrant

repetition) shipping news vernacular like,

starboard over, & over, this

simply matters or doesn’t.

 

one comment is the renaissance (check out my website!)

but stake a base removal from the bar as effective, for kicks,

then beat the life out of a skate park. scour an Indian

restaurant for cricket memorabilia, or even candy coated

fennel seeds & the taste of your bed’s silly refusal of feet…

a noisome cat is far better than the ache, parsed as perpetual.

 

our chocolate coated lives: words exist for this process:

to ooze through when hot, our skins a foil, all presupposed

to hide a bitter patent of the colour purple (as it seems

in purple dreams). the blonde girl assures us / me / of her

addictions. no less confident with such things

impending. but cut from her

to botany / musical play equipment / the ways we name

living things / science / the arousal of suspicion…

 

I photograph Violet to isolate her as a growing thing,

txt it via pizza hut one mind on the powerful & loud

faux-teens. it’s a delight & absolute. a proud gourmet

variety of people kept in the cellar. there is always tv.

 

Hobart began with a block, two couples kissing,

frozen out the window by my glance. this place

of love, public beauty. suppose this.

 

 

3

 

memories of killing can only be stomached with food.

food again destroying your silly faith in Capitalism

(you plan to order the t-shirt) everything feeling

less systematic than it should. former towns are

pretty & uniformly un-guarded

 

suffice to say I’d play up the history of a place – as if

active agency were involved – but only if the mental gap

were appropriate. (like a 19th century pick axe to the skull

it’s barbaric but expected, though always worth putting your

hand up for, a tactile reworking of  ‘stickiness’,

an intellectual act of baravado).

Bryant taking to tourists so recently though,

this blooms disquiet. the recent ghosts are marginalized.

predictable. a tour through the genuine reality of the

solitary wing & I wish the group away, I feel,

quickly, what a sense of real feeling could be

(how you hate the others)

 

 

 

4

 

not bored with the scent of huon pine. repacking

in ever looser segments, clothes like the blots

of wildlife preserved out there. we spot-fish illegally,

again, parade past the eco-toilet, again,

just as ever-boggled as starfish on the bay.

like at the caravan park convenience store –

nobody wants what you have… with that

we rejoice. spiffy little carved train carriages,

all soon noted, even in the hazy laugh-pod of first class.

endless booze clarifies the mist.

 

I’m carrying a sassafras twig all day, by touch

mentally rechecking the memories, two by two,

placing the odour as a pivotal future crutch.

 

rememberance of scents past.

 

this sprung beach at nightfall, defies watering down.

we are shadows glazed in gold-pink, captured

by the correct aperture, & we are at times

worth the danger.

 

rainforest blues / countless photo ops.

 

you’d pan for gold perpetually, given the time.

I give you mine

& wind the bus home

all things a question of credit.

 

 

 

5

 

the hedge maze is the permission we all need

to run to flail (kids make friends / I don’t)

it casts into relief the world I wanted

to love (should have been a product of rigour)

it doesn’t follow, but alcoholism is studiously observed.

I’ll observe anything involving a boat. stumbling

past dubious deeds & the desire to meditate,

the lack of such follow through.

 

all you do is have the ability to know this.

service with a beep. armrest reading light.

the blackened essence of travel.

me pitching it at you.

 

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