I am hearing voices –

banging pots, something
living in my skin, trucks
picking up what’s left of the week.

A man appears at the front fence, wants
to know if the cattle dog is friendly.

‘I’m not sure but you’re welcome to enter.’

The man asks if he will be safe
on the other side of the bolted gate
looks first at our dog’s bared teeth
then my worn underpants.

He wants guarantees that can’t be given.

I say ‘You should be okay, just don’t touch
his head or make sudden movements.’
It is important to explore the possibilities
even though our dog’s yellow teeth
could no longer puncture
a meter man’s shaking hand.

I tell him it’s a dingo
which could be either of us
hairs up, hunched, position downwind
not canine nor tenant
staring through him
from the burning deck.

David Stavanger

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O Hail! to the days of wine and typhus,
the arrangements of battlefields in early spring,
the glory of a factory that rifts your body
before it wipes your mind, religions vivid
as blood sacrifice. Rise up King Pepe!
Pwn the noob descending the staircase,
these Chads will know the beta’s far cry.

PTSD was straightforward
when you could just belt your wife.
These days all we have is a toilet stall
where you can sharpie ‘Ted Bundy
would have loved her as prey’
across a picture of Patricia Krenwinkel
and no one will delete it.

These days it seems to me
people have their favourite monkeys,
bonobos or capuchins, smart as dumb likers.
I might just borrow yours.
Welcome to the shit show
and remember to vote with your wallet.

Liam Ferney

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What happens after the rain is pure speculation
And this is a weekend where I exhale my body weight
In cigarette smoke and a hangover’s regrets
And The Boss’ call and response calibrates
And my city blossoms like an orchid or a cancer
Spreading over an investor’s heritage listing
And this is what it’s like when the evening three step
Picks up a fourth The heart’s dervish
Or a carnival ride carny have let certification slide on
The first responders aren’t responsible for mopping viscera
The inquest will record points of impact velocity
Lay appropriate blame but never explain
               The urge to buy the ticket in the first place

Liam Ferney

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The marker: Bruce Lee happy snapping
Opposite Trajan’s stables.
Not up to scratch, we replace
Dostoyevsky with an app
And clap enthusiastically
At the dud soundtrack’s tub.

When the Premier dished out
Shit sandwiches in the Executive
She called them pineapples.
They swapped ironic gifts
Post-catastrophe.
Now: giant, projected,
They hew faces
Like burns.

Of course I’m obtuse.
Civilisation is all about
Me not telling you what I really think.

Creativity’s industry,
A one-inch punch we’re not set for.

And if we were?
Who am I kidding? It’s Bruce Lee.

Liam Ferney

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a gunman is a gunman is a gunman
like the chorus line tryout i felt nothing

it was worth noting the small matter
of gathering rare ingredients for a drink

a monday morning death toll
as specific as thursday’s Powerball

this time he can’t be arsed with the filter
it doesn’t come up at the crumbs

of somebody from the health team’s birthday
in a lunch room packed with a mail out

she forgets about it and hits refresh
details washed like an easy stain

the untroubled market hardly wobbles
while the algorithms digest the data

Liam Ferney

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my name is abundance his name is love
charlie doesn’t advise does charlie
command? accrete necessary details
you can parse anything try

what’s a poor girl to do? parade us
as students we are your daughters
we lived as armies liberate villages
we all knew money wasn’t pure

my name is disturbance his name is love
you have an awful lot of guesses
Eisenhower’s front had faded
the judge couldn’t comprehend the

unfulfilled promises this world is
vaster first moments of morning
when everyone had folded into sleep
they were faded principalities fads

frayed as values we trusted in blossoms
in M16 barrels but the barrels
didn’t trust us myriad opportunities
for walk ins bri wigs out in

& out of the studio for some parents
it never mattered it was a thing
they never noted then it came time
to find meaning at the end of it

nothing is without consequence
the war is not stationary creeps
westward far too slowly they discover
the universe is too lonely things

that happen on cowboy sets deserts
desolate as fat predators with keys to
the best parts there is a time
for living the time keeps on flying

some pleaded stay with me until
the horror goes pleading begging
begging pleading the press wonder
how you’ll feel about him minus beard

the soul sure did pick a lulu but the
soul did a good job stabbed from
various angles on the lawn all
testimony is fabricated in blood

you tell us we needn’t be monsters
to do monstrous things sifting
for carpet bombers’ ruffled trails
political piggies die for prophecies

the trio a girl group costumed
variously in sky blue skirt &
darker cardigans shaved heads
flower power prints the time of the season

he looks the other way when it suits
his hard cock the song doesn't land
& the producer mooches off to the lido
a stolen car grunts venice

beach malibu topanga canyon death valley
in suburbs my cup runeth over
you look at my game phil asks
if the angels are beating on kids

we stay up all night calibrating everyone
we know calls ring out houselights
start new stories clues
misaligned still it doesn't quite tell

the freezing bonfire’s story
locusts be beatles his family
fumbles the trigger the plain dealer
front page kids lie in a my lai pile

sanction etiquette’s breach miss
manners’ guide to domestic tranquillity:
the authoritative manual for
every civilized household, however

harried is essential reading
every family falls apart face it
we love charm more than we love character
we bleed a butchery of book deals

the dead are so many so few
our century of paradise & horror
stay with me while it ends we've shared
too much it will be over too soon

mr & mrs america you are wrong
i am what you made me: mad dog
devil killer fiend leper my thoughts
light fires in your cities

Liam Ferney

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after the Saint Louis University Mental Status (SLUMS) Examination

at midpoint I take a call from work – don’t want to, though
all jobs are made up anyway and I’m not in today

the first year without Hansie:
look at the state we’re in

if two dots tie two lines together
is meaning made?

things are not important – I will tell you again
you ask me for things, sell me things, I buy the things
things piled on top of things

last December I bought $100 of groceries a week for four weeks
in a bid to collect 10,000 frequent flyer points
the house was full of cleaning products, sanitary pads and olive oil

it hurts to remember the empty cupboards
the echo of hunger and myopic options
the knock of socket wrench on broken starter motor
who can afford 3-for-the-price-of-2 when you can’t afford 1?

or was it five weeks?

now: waving from the leftover horizon

pinky houdini gamzl petrankrum pigsley brutus leah ninny mrs grey bernard zowie katze kuh

a pile of things on top of things

the spurious correlations

two lines = two dots :
             = total revenue generated by arcades : computer science doctorates awarded in the US
             = per capita cheese consumption : people who died tangled in bedsheets

what can it all mean?
what does a clock face?

I have a memory of Charlie Cheese’s Pizza Playhouse, bashing the whack-a-mole
but I’m not so sure that happened – maybe I just saw the ad
= cheese : arcade

last weekend I tried to recall a story about Kanye West at the zoo
I mixed it up with that time my cousin Leisha met Snoop Dogg
= rapper : zoo

a few weeks ago I forgot the word for ‘latitude’
even though I know that latitude is flatitude – I still had to check

oh! shebah and sneakers and the little patchy one ... what WAS their name?

Pascalle Burton

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composition in retrospect Pascalle Burton SoP QLD

Pascalle Burton

Source text: Sound Pages. John Cage’s publications (2014) edited by Giorgio Maffei and Fabio Carboni

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    we started in 1981 and compleTed in 1988.
    in 1983 the first portioN
    of it was included in john cagE's book x ...

(after The Oxford Happiness Questionnaire)

We had better empty the wine-cups.
To-morrow, at bright dawn, the world’s business will entangle us.
We brush away our tears,
We go – East and West.

                                                          – Tu Fu

gurgle /ˈɡəːɡ(ə)l
grandmothers carry prams to term / babysit baby’s baby / regurgitated capsule
commuters exhale daily day into night aircon carriage
doors closing please stand
waits for no ma

ri:fle slickstream
fillet knife separates the hairyskin
something seeps almost-clear

financial
review
predict the price drop of value
cue funny anecdote of destitution

                                                                                                    fi
                                                                                                    re

I rarely wake up feeling rested
☒ strongly agree

what future has not yet
yet what are we working for?
poisonwater?
virtualpunching?
(who could type ‘I will rape you with a metal pole’?)
no one can afford to breathe

committed is as committed does
google ‘how to section my mother’
do that and see how it feels

                                                                                                    fi
                                                                                                    re

a person is on fire / a building explodes
a leg blown off
a cheek shattered
a superbug eats a brain / a cancer eats a liver
these things really happened

a man can lose his life for dressing as a woman
(person)                                                                  (person)
I think an x clothed as x can be anyone x wants
we are all ex-something
ex-womb at least

hear that gradual shift
a slight fingernaildrag on a fender

well well well well well
it is hard to know how to help
but I hope they know it weighs heavy
I carry them like a shotput / which is to say I don’t do much

othr thn tht lol
srsly
so much funny stuff

they would have you believe
you can control the darkness
sign up now for 24-hour assistance
get ready for a month of shooting stars

                                                                                                     fi
                                                                                                     re

a melted slipper in a bonfire
pain feels right like slipping a socked foot through the radiator till it scorches
you pull out then do it all over / sex fuse

even though I have no grand illusions
I still like Miranda July to read me my horoscope
maybe my grand illusion is my lack of one

Schiaparelli and Comme des Garçons walk into a Leigh Bowery
yes, I would try and make it

the headstrong focus the overhead pan
David Byrne starts kinking his knee

did I tell you how crazy I feel when Born Under Punches plays?
I try not to let it show but
my throat could open my body flail
in Kinsella’s moth-green eyeshadow
and convulsing chest
I wonder what we are capable of on the panopticon patio

computer worms mediate morality
how many lips are being licked *right now*

synapse neuron snap
no fuselage just balance beam creaking
no influence, even in my own dreams

well well well well well
to good friends and good health
to the tough times behind us
what good will that do us?

cursor blinks|

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cursor blinks|

can’t wait to see what’s next

Pascalle Burton

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    gurgle /ˈɡəːɡ(ə)l
    grandmothers carry prams to term / babysit baby’s baby / regurgitated capsule
    commuters exhale daily day into night aircon carriage ...

(after The New World of Transitioned Media by Gali Einav)

a less tanglible currency at play by Pascalle Burton

Pascalle Burton

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    Expressing
    to the world
    a raw idea
    how to be watched
    but also