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Michael Farrell

Two poems



structures p

                        if you took
                        him apart youd find him

                        even more convincing every
                        time hes on the other

                        mans a beast
                        little flower no more

                        what
                        an amazing way
                        you must assemble them

                        the suicides &c
                        it was trivial
                        laziness & stealing threads

                        it should be
                        you who are the prince
                        the ruler of colour —  —  —

                        & comedy
                        is in my method acting

                        everyone
                        gets a song
                        if theyre friendly

                        the charms off
                        i feel
                        sorry for them

                        the unusual
                        boy is behind
                        the question building
                        –this
                        is a first
                        men clap–

he
can walk you
home

                        what began as animation
                        soon became serious heart
                        failure they have
                        to save
                        a fairy from delusions
                        
                        the crossing
                        is ready
                        for his hair
                        to blow off

                        your life —  —  —
                        engineered
                        to be rapped about

                        a seal
                        could
                        do a better job
                        –the dead dont even notice

the blueness
                        the incessant cakerie
                        thats part of it

                        be my guest
                        tarzan

                        lubricant gloves thermos voila
                        humiliation in
                        the corner store

                        come & see

                        the wild black sheep
                        my blistered skin
                        voice deeper than average
                        but i said no


bad diction

the      tread      has      worn      ‘out’    from      being
      used,
already half stodge      ‘the quandary’
naked from the bath      screaming      wheres uncle?
in fortitude valley, again?


wondering what kind of flull undo us next
we unpack the slightly crushed hats
the      ad      has      worn      ‘out’    from      being
      read,
‘a borrowed table & a few dummies fool the press’
‘a fellow addict & a few sparrows eat the peas’
when the gnome appears
he needs a haircut      in the coma
the      card      has      worn      ‘out’    from      being
      played,
like bourke st, honey?
what they say in the 60s movies      about prague
like the precinct, officer?
wondering if well be linked by the priest

looking for the weetbix      pools of blood by the shut forests of ripponlea

where the fences end
there were all kind of men with scooters beards & yarmulkas
naked from the waist      blueeyed      dont touch?
there were all kinds of women with scooters beads & miracles
like sinead oconnor, bonsoir?
where the foxes breed
we pick up the bread crusts
cutting up a pork chop, grilling frozen chips...
he stares, a greatcoat      walks in empty
‘a holey spoon & a snooker ball up the arse’
looking for the gatorade      a ref unconscious by the chalk lines of elsternwick


the sheep on his pjs excusable at his age...
left his porridge      ‘the brick’
wondering if well do right by our guests
why the eggs break
what they say in 60s movies      about detroit
what the branches do
there were five kinds of duck each with its own sauce
no cows on blocks?
the      pump      has      worn      ‘out’    from      looking
      birdlike,

on the floor the remains & traces of grandfather      ‘the chefs’

wondering if they need to improve their pecs

on the floor a piece of a black eye      ‘the incorrigibles’
the      sprockets      have      clogged      up      from      showing
      pap,
in the river junk we didnt know was invented      ‘the grandees’
what they say in 60s movies      about rio
leaking like an mp      he skips around the clinic piano as if somehow moved
a new lover      ‘the bathtap’
going outside to practise ‘the greeting’

Michael Farrell Photo by Pam Brown

Michael Farrell
Photo by Pam Brown

Michael Farrell has published 3 books: ode ode, BREAK ME OUCH and a raiders guide.

 
 
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