Listen……hear
the distant hum
of early morning traffic
on Westgate Bridge,
a chorus of birdsong
and that eastbound
aeroplane flying high
overhead en route
to Wellington
or Christchurch.
The clink of rigging
on those moored boats
riding a passing wake,
nearby footsteps,
the tap of a stick,
the jingle of a spoon
inside an empty
coffee cup.
Voices spilling out
of an open window,
someone blowing
their nose,
the scrape
of a soapy squeegee
across a cafe door
and on the edge
of hearing,
the deep throb
of a ferry casting off
from the end
of Williamstown pier.
How wonderful it is
for all these sounds
to have found
a way to my ear.
The sound that the rubber blade
of the timeworn squeegee made,
swiftly scrubbing my car’s screen
in a familiar routine;
was more obnoxious to me
than the stuff, resembling ghee
that the soul, sad and unclean
had just thrown on there. I mean
now they’ll expect to be paid
or it’ll be a harsh tirade
about their slip; unforeseen,
my fine car, and being mean,
and how the land of the free
works fine for people like me,
for them, the country’s decayed.
I think that I’m being played
but then, that thought is obscene!
Why won’t the dam light turn green?
God, they are looking at me;
sorry, have no change, I plea.
Listen, do you hear it?
That NORTHERN FLUTTER that,
radiates from a distant galaxy;
it’s a blood-laser
just a crappy piece of
fringe software
that acts like a
squeegee;
inducing vertigo.
They’ve conquered an binary star
IC434, in the Horsehead Nebula;
with their scythe psychosis,
and their toxic-powder,
subjective optimism,
they, the invaders,
plan to stimulate
their new home,
a new Genesis in 6033.
All for what?
Cockroach eternity,
invasive species,
Man has conquered
twelve galaxies and
destroyed eleven.
Push it right there,
it's schematic addictions dismantlement in prisms,
push it all along the way-
rotation of grapes,
push it into the grey-
for we cannot fake our face...
Slow the born band,
because we reprimand,
yet adorn the command,
push in push in and see the next best,
squeegee encounter,
and then a phat rent.
two old poems
from the book
2000-2001
Minimum Wage
Pigeons coo
as Seagulls fly
in spiraling swarms above
(universal?)
Birds in anticipation of an unknown purchase
practice aerial acrobatics
**** spattered on fresh Windex streaks
Squeegee stopped mid stroke
and swaying as I scream skyward
Formations unaltered
unlike the boss’ face
Windex bottle shattered
blue liquid down the drain
Sand King
Atop the dunes of time
spent some hours tracking
circles in the sky
and diggings in the dirt
in hope of finding water traces
not so distant but sweat
on my skin sparking
spoke of urgency
The day never so long
as night’s descent
on the old dented diesel
Peyote psychosis
now nearly nonexistent
Lighting a cigarette for change
red paint flaked off
the beat up Ford
leaving a cinder trail back to civilization
It’s the phantom window cleaner
He’s a man who’s built for speed
You should see him cleaning windows
He’s extremely fast indeed
If you watch him climb his ladder
With his squeegee and his scrim
Then you will not be surprised
That there’s not too much of him
He won’t slow down his pace
It’s such a disconcerting habit
Like a ferret up a pipe, or
A whippet, chasing rabbit
But wait till Friday night
When he is serving at the bar
It’s a total transformation
He’s the slowest one by far
when screams of children being bombed &
women being raped to the sounding drumbeat of war,
some trip over their feet to turn the knob
to click the clicker, change the channel
to
run
run
run away
from the real tragedy spitting back in your face
because the modern conveniences that make your life
cushy
are the same fueling the masquerade that’s destroying lives & killing others
all across the world---
there is no system of checks n’ balances---
the figures of the dead are only accounted for by the winners for the
winners,
and history will have no place for you if you need something that
they are not willing to concede.
for some this is all just easy listening
for some this is all what they run to their cabinet in their kitchen to get the
cleaning fluid to
squeegee the screen
try to make the blood go away
try to make the screams pass on and leave them the rest of their day.
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