Owen Bullock


               I’m a smallish medium
               and in China I’m extra large

                                             if I were an author
                                             I’d write a book called . . .

                                                            bleeding without glasses

                                                                           hiding in junk mail

                                                                                          I see a dog in italics

                                                                           that sounds experiential

                                                            it took me to a place
                                                            that I wasn’t

                                             initiate the force field!

                              clouds contain sentient bacteria

               the fire alarm is still singing

found myself in this paper bag
& just kept talking

seek me out
in a well-lit corridor

               the bird calls

                              she wears
                              anti-facial recognition make-up

                                             Aint Skeered

                                                            we all self-helped each other

                                             there will be mummy and daddy words

                              it throws the potter


               Dunfermline’s like a mini Edinburgh
               multicultural caffees and stuff, ken

                              have you come far?

                                             to befriend the arsonist

                                             I’ll wear a bikini
                                                            to listen to Vivaldi’s Summer

                                                            p cannot validate q

it’s like the beginning of a hologram

painted or unpainted
buckled, unbuckled

               I would have changed the loudness of London

serviettes on the floor

                              grey quartz and black tourmarine
                                             ivy and valerian

a seat named after them

               ants might get me fingers!

                              beer is food

                                             no animals to attract
                                             or defend themselves from

                                                            we’re outdumbered

another sock in the road

               are you a collector or a classifier?

swell & surge
slip & skip

               every man and his dog’s got a dog

                              the chattering classes

                                             I don’t know what ta-boo-lay is

                                                            Swiftly see each moment flies
                                                            See and learn be timely wise
                                                            Every moment shortens days
                                                            Every pulse beats time away
                                                            This the every heaving breath
                                                            Wafts onto eternal death

kneeding & clawing

nettles & stones

               he also believed in other more dodgy things like
               honesty and goodness

                              Crabber’s Nip

they have the correct apple pie to custard ratio
the best fish ’n’ chips so far

power lines
moss dangles

               treasure every sighting

                              I never stopped wanting to be sophisticated

                                             in the supermarket twilight zone
                                             me and Brian Clough were crocodile ghostbusters

to celebrate the nooks & crannies
of god

               a laster

                              you can buy sexy mother-pucker lipstick

                                             Buddha irradiates the wonderful energies of Healing, Luck,
                                             Abundance and Happiness eternally.

jewels in church and temple
ourselves manifested

               No! Smoking

                              Mixxed Vegetables

sultry noise


               that week I left the dishes
               vomit bags by my bed

                              No Pride in Genocide
                              Fuck Australia Day

                                             he robbed a bank with a cactus

                                                            if there’s garlic!

flags in the ant hills

               her family
               had Sean Connery for their milk boy
               shaken not curdled

                              waiting for the shop to open
                              to buy a cake tin

he carries scales
up the mountain

gets an ant on his finger
licks it off

you mention the family
who lost a child . . .
a butterfly appears

               twice as worse

                              she was called a blue stocking

                                             mention humanitarian aid
                                             and the room empties

                                                            have you heard the good news that Iesu died for us and rose again?

                                                                                          I memorised everyone at St Vincent’s last name
                                                                                          in my class


                                                                           the busker’s only word

in sidewalk cement

people who use the word deplorable

snobs are those ill at ease with themselves?

               golf balls & kangaroo dung

                              I like the word ‘model’

                                             it’s a very looky sort of place

                                                            the whole car’s a handbag

                                                                           Seduced Hair

cowshit plaster for a pond?

               Love, love me do!

                              the analyst said
                              I don’t even know you

                                             I get an electric shock from water

on an imaginary conversation

               I’m a zombie without a voice

                              they’re all good people
                              I spose

                                             bus stop, he shouts:
                                             one church is enough!

                                                            I didn’t want to get all feministy and human rightsy
                                                            about it

                                                                           and shit

Owen Bullock is a New Zealand poet who has been resident in Australia whilst completing a PhD in Creative Writing at the University of Canberra, looking at the poetry of Alistair Paterson, Alan Loney and Michele Leggott. He has two new collections forthcoming in 2017: semi (Puncher & Wattmann) and Work & Play (Recent Work Press).
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