extract from

Poem for an artist 

Falling in a river

mud on my feet

slippers that no longer meet

I take a can

and make a phone

so that I never feel alone

It’s far out here in the west

mostly mortgages & parks are best

its even further out in those hills

with kids and even more bank bills

though for some its NOT!

Its art amongst

the shopping malls and waterfalls

those cascades of wire and rubber.

Light blue and pastel pink

all muzak and shiny mirrors

glamorous mall

my beacon of the 80s

its the beat its the beat its the beat

on the street.

Cars, lebs and rev heads

sports, weights and soggy beds

fucked school and being cool

over and out

its in the past

since then its been a blast

Death makes for sacred ground

Oztralia no longer a transit lounge

waiting here to go back home

retiring inside the Greek zone.

Who will clean the precious graves

and make the marble sparkle

change the plastic flowers and

avoid an ethnic debacle

I am not a victim

but fuck I love a drama

comedy or tragedy

just like any other farmer

It’s so Ozzy and a wee bit Greek

and i like that I can land on my feet.