Tim Wright


and into the today of artefact

cut down from a larger suburb
these napes pass under like dunes
one of the more to be pulled away from
starts again from a different rise
aboard channel or windbreak
the previously all-believing
were some of the less like them to begin with
and as such more pullings apart, tippings over
the yarra slopes between trees
Echoes deter and bunt
the ravishing veil of shittiness
weeded out those underperforming then
chose at random (‘him, him, him’)

Crisp moon disappears
from vaulted ceiling, from plattered streets
the tarpaulin hummed
and where one fence discontinued
tenebrous, probing clouds
unsullied, bump into each other
so the month calls for cease
- clumps, clouds, desire -
after this I went for a walk,
a crowd was disaggregating outside a church
and vaguely going home

Windowless panelvan rolls past
I decathect, move among them
a manner of chords, turned into heat
or harmed and blaming both sides
apologies flap out of trees
and distraction sets in, ersatz cricket ball
dark as fruit, or interlinked menial grindscape
garnering subtle waves
neap tide of a carpark

And into the toy phalanstery
vacuumed river slips through unaddressed
this speckled reef or arcade
now tamed decades - they never leave
there’s a dog snapping at bubbles outside the flywire
giant corsage of wine
slurred arias redeemed at a window -
if I make this decision, and then back the other way
so the obliging blobs
drift across as starfish, hard
and cartilaginous,
smoke gushes off the leaves
and ovoid answers pivot, swing-step
pausing long enough to appear as if agreeing
on a direction; regnant dishes
inexactly for the coming days

Nothing equals out
the woolworths shelves’
shining dead mountain
we emblazoned -
grafted rent, matterings apart
on habitual crease
the only other one let free
now flying all over the Boer War
fracking the bluestone’s bits inside of bits
evening walk along the creek current

Carved chunks of water
coalesce lengths of guilt
back into circulation
How long since
scuffed windows thru sun
a blaze of security’s
tomorrow-a-thon -
the figure loses air, falls, reinflates
framed photos on the wall with different politicians
braised voices glint their longue durée
to reams of singing-whingeing
decade-sealant

Another night,
another Alan Sondheim
car stereos / carpets / meat / shisha
it’s a while since we all came together
all watching basketball along the couch
the sound of stars as I step out sur le balcon
and swim unrepentantly ashore at Socotra
soon the kids next door
will be bashing a papier-mache
donkey to death

Gradually popping bubblewrap brain cells
cogent moon of the ancients
their present tense, therefore glass entertainment precinct’s charred
as if autoclaved sentiment
left out of them, shortfall of voice
mist rising off the icons, arrows pointing inwards
the whole area’s slotted realms
double tap as humans gather,
brittle, aspected, transgressed,
separate, deep, voices lope towards

Does not reappear riding home high on that knowledge
medicated in the camps
for a composite of multistable parts
braying cars, a helm’s length apart,
rift the partitioned oblast’s ‘pure CBD’
horizontal wharf light or threshold
reefed, psychotic radio announcer
high off the ground entombed,
unremaindered day, slight incline but going down it
commingled recycling, every idea
posed neon arcana at the matted dark
between wedge and interstice
chocked flow-on avers guarded noughts,
petered out bludge
transects agog gouvernement

So silted revenge and piled up darts of ago - anew
their pleasant overseeming at the glass
I’m laughing along but vomiting also -
some change is thrown in,
shells more or less, coin-shaped, abut the path
splurged personal effects
the rapid fewer one is, and grazes the outside
‘behind the Dan Murphys’
slaked empties of Bowler’s Run asunder, curved
in the shade of a mizzenmast.




Tim Wright's new collection Suns has just come out from Puncher & Wattmann.
 
 
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