States of Poetry Series Two
for Aunty Suzie Wilson
We’d often give Dad a lift to work along this bent stretch of the river.
Maiwar curved here like a boomerang hook. Ghosts that tasted heavy
of pork bones hung in the dawn; most of Murrarie had been invaded by
K.R. Darling Downs. You would almost hear the unified groan at 5 am,
when all the workers formed a single-file; it wa ...
Where Logan Rd and Creek intersect there used to be an old
gas station that looked beat even when it was new. You could
feed a fuel-pump shiny 20-cent pieces at any hour of the day
when petroleum was 17-cents a litre. The solid steel rods of the
tram lines were stapled into the Earth, under Kagaar Mabul;
home of the s ...
We dream, we heal, we are reborn.
Intellect is a hot thing in the hands.
Without life, one cannot breathe.
You and I are travellers of this galaxy
airing our differences with space.
Only a traveller can unpack this suitcase.
Some say there is no season for camping.
Look up at the stars, there is no reason.
A hunch is angel talk.
Love remains explored ...
bipolar record lows
new rashes trending daily
each doctor a new violence
a meteor gets closer to your face
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 b ...
David Stavanger is a poet, performer, and cultural producer. In 2013 he won the Arts Queensland Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize, resulting in the release of The Special (UQP) ...
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 ...
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 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
Now: giant, projected,