Leaving the Academy, I suppose I went.

I need some strong spells,
so completely distracted from duty
some tin foil wrapped around a corsage found winters later
Why wouldn't you try not working?
Whose brave enough?
We have enough cream
seeing everything the same.

This days weed tastes of cinnamon
and a forest after the rain,
I've taken to the out doors, cover
discarded for the thrill of the open sun.
the surf is juicy and the surfers are dumb.
My knee is still sore
and it may never heal
Child hood hero's go out , proud
As they always were


The Architecture of her bra lifts
thick folds of fat from her belly
to enclose fields like poppies
puppies sitting up begging to
be plucked like a marshmellow
into thy mouth as if it were
a stomach. the body snaps
has at half
a whole mouth.
Takes it in
a pellet at a time and yet my
scorn tells me that I'm in need of
feeding of feeling fed from it.
To love a breast is to crave
the softness from the sail, the billow
under a frozen sea where
homelessness could be lost for a second
and the heart beats out of control.

This is a scene from Big
Wednesday, it is wednesday - I
sit at the newly installed park
benches over the break, where
a lone surfer a waits in suit
a skater older than me chats
with a dork, He's legit a good skater,
but runs a skate shop. Other heroes
turn up in real suits and sun glasses,
Must be in real estate advertising
must be cause of the accent (wanker)
He's come with a slacker busy body,
a stunt doubles stand in and man
I'm pissed. But i remember I'm the
Bear from the beach house, i'm the
spirit of '62', I'm the notion of freedom,
freedom from being untrue, I look
like a dork but i'm the least dorky
speaking to me will reveal this
to be tru. But you surfer are
a wanabe and you're scared of
me, cause i see you, getting it
wrong, and enjoy it.

The youth have hardly changed, in
case they look exactly like as i did
in Youth I was a cad.  My Anti-
fashion was fashion, minimalism pop - threads
black, grey brown I don't wear blue
jeans, them's for slaves, where as I
see they do well that's not changed.
I feel so radical now
in the sun, Aperture open
Eye my little camera i have
note pad to a threat
Public witness statistician.
The odds of anyone remotely thinking
bout the data status of the life
before me, renders relevance through
the rafters before God that is a
mouse that leaks...

Surfers are still the ones who dare
movement,
A public body Acting strangely,
a stretch, a lie down,
a scan of the seas horizon,
lining up the seas shore
fat thrills and folly. Oh I'm sure
of that.
Only who'd want to look at
that body nearly naked now
either sports man or crew,
either he man or no man,
While wild man he got away.
wild mans body was his own, he
rate more that any woman. he'd
stand in silence buzz love a song so
heard by creation, god knelt. to
The tune maker, a life

Mobiles are clouds
do fractals, anti-kaleidoscopes 

A surfer learns a lot by watching others,
and deconstructing pictures, we think we are
our heros the gods of athletes

People grow more beautiful the more their
lives have been under threat.
A beautiful baby quick to pale, not so nice
life twice,
Writing this poem I'm astonished at how
powerful I am, crush and virtue go
hand with hand. I keep the poor
for they are like me.

I approve of what I like
I make a point of littering anywhere I go,
why deprive myself of a living
I didn't pay for this, how could I
I'm a bum,

I looked at her
for a moment  she you could see was happy,
a cracked sunshine refracted intensely around
a bunch of mirror shards, against a wall
of warm laughter, I was stunned,
her noticing me face says 'remember
your not sexy' and she is, On a hill
I sit and my beacon Red hat has her lost
to my affection, support famous love.

Which means give me anything or nothing
to distract me from this life
so I can
On the library steps, I record
thought already had on the boardwalk
where across from Icons the cities pub
past the real living invisibles getting smashed
under the bridge, I take note, of
the given harmony. the war perhaps has
given slip. Slipped over under
Until online can you hear it
the war has gone under
into the online underground, My cultured
response to day light is art my night time
culture in gang banging, I'm the key and
her hole, king and her horde,
Play self at the center market
On life duality
A wee wand waved pertuity
by subject youth in full blown costume.

But here comes the fashionable ones, who pull through
the shards of time to patch quilt a sketch
of rebellion the thinking crew of skepticism
It's here It's there it's everywhere
for a moment with the young at heart.

The word I'm looking for is "Pertuitity"
I ask of all people a security guard who directs
me to the desk to just my luck the Head
Matriarch sits perfectly helpful "where would
I find the Dictionaries, - 400's I think,
Section D, Yes that's it under languages - Yes of
course! How silly of me, the Oxford first
then the Collins street slate tombs,
Remember searching for a word,
you go by smell in a forest
For the river, sounds like, feels like,
looks like, there are other words,
that interest, the word the way I think
it is not there,
I just hear it call to me
like a person despite everything wouldn't mind a little
company.
She pulls down the cleavage of her t shirt
a little apparently to adjust her bra,
she's 16 - maybe, I look I have to,
I look up at the word pipe, as she
waits for me to interject, computer put away,
I notice a hidden streak of pink behind
her ear as she gazes over my left
shoulder. Facing me the next desk over
I go to check my phone. anything to help
bring a conclusion to this scene.
I pull out my camera, and try to hide
it she notices - I put it down behind the tombs
and pick up my phone,
flustered it may be a camera, she
leaves walking towards me. I'm on the
toilet aisle, perhaps a connection.

I don't want to sell to arsholes,
but perhaps once I've sold to loved ones,
Arseholes would be a lot of fun.
Arts always reveled in the Baseness of
Market values I don't see why I am
any different, I seek to sell this, this
depravity, or rather its been bought, By
you dear public - the thought of it must
shudder - you too could be unemployed,
a vacant space upon the grid accumulating credit
till time says lets drop - and the purse of
bowls tingaling, our sound

Turning of pages its new surface
regenerated to an indifferent smoothness
polished by hate by an unhappy machine too
richly run. Maybe its petuitity

I Asked, not knowing how to smell it
I could not know where to look
and she looked into me, like a peek
that goes on for a lot longer
I wallow in her grey eyes searching out
the whites and find none but there
lies a marble of fertile ground layers
of no turning back and for a moment
her alcoholism touches swords in honor with
my stonedness, Per petuity we both have
trouble saying it, but that's it that's the
word. A thing that lasts forever or
for an indefinite period, in particular
a bond or other security with no fixed maturity date.

The rites of All present All season,
We've never topped the bicycle, as
we drown now in car bonnet done up
against a tide too impossibly big not to
drown, what cast a glance against Anything
in your vicinity, is better than
the bicycle for its scale and effect
for and both to the body, environment
and you know, I travel.
on a thin wheel my speed is