Toby Fitch

Life Creep

(A Pathetic Septina)

Uhh, Life Creep just made an excellent #lit post.
Everyday is abs day when you’re a snake.
Currently, 0 people are cheering. Cheer with them now.
Existentialism liked your event.
Deleuze and Guattari Retweeted your Retweet.
The more things change, the more they stay spam.
New credit card transaction. Click through to view your counts.

The more things seer, the more insane they cheer.
Delusion and guitars, cars and rent. Life
Creeps as eggs split by everyday events
That snakes post. Throw a clock, account for your lax views
Of lit people transacting. Retweets are the new
Realism, torsional, bursting like #stars.
0 change, just ads. Uhh, in credit card mode today.

Cheers. Post-deluge of greetings
You exit isms and snake through pooling currency.
The more things credit, the more they expectorate. Blergh,
You have views. Excellent peeps
Don’t abdicate their cliques or accounts
So mark the sea’s creep. Evental, every day is #just
A transaction. Like a retweet. You must exchange your life.

Bear the Sky

     (A Sonnet for E) 

      apple dada lion quack           big feet monkey sky
bears eye Minky         sit          chunky gentle quick wipes
       clean face lemon splash         cloud gone pink       water
bees drink kiwi snow            back door light spider

     cool hide orange        sleep birdy flower        moon tongue
          black dog Keating trains         bucket flying noise tree

             cheese ear phone       uh-oh       bottle foxing nope teeth
      avocado        hey red tiger          cat dress pengy trip

belly girly mama squirrel           bubble headed pencil tail
           cracked green ice shells           book flying       newt zoom

      aeroplane in milk        star catch       hot pear triangle
             balloon duck hand shake       blob kicking       plug sun       
               boxy leafy plum tissue       car    froggy mouth swim
       animal dream pop         sock         bed down horsy rain


A blue whale’s heart is the size of a Volkswagen,
you could swim through its arteries.
The spotted hyena female has a very large clitoris
such that it’s often mistaken for the male.
In ancient natural histories the hyena is described as an
animal which changes back and forth between two genders.
The English language doesn’t switch genders, grammatically
speaking. Electrical devices have alternating current

but don't care which direction the electrons are moving;
the same amount of current flows through a circuit regardless
of its genre. Hydraulic fracturing or “fracking” is the process
of drilling and injecting fluid into the ground at a high pressure
in order to fracture shale rocks and release natural gas inside,
i.e. the genre of mining most patriarchal. Up to 600
chemicals are used in fracking fluid, incl. known carcinogens
and toxins. “Fractal” comes from the Latin “fractus,”

meaning “broken.” The 1883 explosion of Krakatau
shot so much dust into the earth’s atmosphere
sunsets appeared green and the moon appeared blue.
A fractal must be irregular in shape. Most objects in nature
don’t have simple geometric shapes. Clouds, trees, and mountains
for e.g. don’t usually look like circles, triangles or pyramids.
In Apollo 13 a picture of the moon was generated by fractals.
No matter how far it zoomed in the detail was preserved.

Scientists have created a Pollockizer to measure
and prove the fractal genius of Jackson Pollock but the results
have proven fractal bunk. The first bunk beds are said
to have originated in ancient Egypt. Ditto suspicions of cats
and the pregnancy test. Egyptians were apparently
crazily accurate at maths: a woman would be laid
on a mash of beer and dates and pregnancy
would be determined by how much she vomited. Meanwhile,

myth is a memory we’ve forgotten isn’t real; the present’s
fake news is compressed between historical
and future strata; and not all stress fractures show up on x-ray.
Evel Knievel suffered 433 to his bones
and literally burnt bridges. If prose is a house,
poetry is a person on fire running breakneck through it,
knowing without knowing how
moondust smells like burnt gunpowder.

Toby Fitch is poetry editor of Overland and a lecturer in creative writing at the University of Sydney. His books include Rawshock, which won the Grace Leven Prize for Poetry 2012, Jerilderies, The Bloomin’ Notions of Other & Beau, ILL LIT POP and, forthcoming in 2019, Where Only the Sky had Hung Before (Vagabond Press).
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