Poor Aussie Boy

Summer Venicea
…  a hothouse
frozen in time
then suspended
in a saltwater museum
The despised tourists
on the dock
by the boatload
disgorging
Then to queue
for religious relics
and pay 5 euros
just to see them
Once they would’ve all
been led for free
and fed into the Colosseum
Like foreigners
who walk around
saying … “Gidday!”
Barbarians well known
to pisciare in the bidet

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Sailing High in Creation

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Riding the bounds
Sailing high in creation
Things that astound
on the wing
in the deep
and under the ground
Yet consciousness
hard up against the glass
of this broken existence
Confiscated by the State
as a piece of degenerate art
then sold as a slave
to the black market of fate
I made the big break
for the heights of Montmartre
A spirited defence
yet only token the resistance
at the cutting edge
of forsaken circumstance

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