Sam Moginie

Idyll meets the dog mayhem

it’s not coca cola it’s ice lovely
mist on your hair and cake underarms
what they call ‘latitude’ in other words
thunder of the disengaged voice you’re it

table has rain on it we can’t eat there
we eat by the piano trampoline has
rain on it too but we can play the
whistle glockenspiel and the records

your hair is the colour of an apricot bite


busk outside the rabbit cage
native pigeons are beside herself her harshest critics
the fence is a little shit
the shirts the boys shoved into the roof to stop the light getting on the beer
irrelevant as of tornado charmingly unhelpful

when we inherited the conceit we inherited fifty types of glass

what’s a bunch of desire in language again?

who’s effect is aimed for?

a beer bottle
punted into the sun

Sam Moginie rents in Lewisham, Sydney.
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