landgrab, sit pretty until the last lease kills outsources, usurps lawn filings: what do we have to say to each other lined up & concordant, stranded city walls, gates wide-open, down in manuscript welters? white gods keep tabs on the tax file register, guarding the ins & outs of oil filters, opal glimpses, cavities we root up & void. i tell you, it bothers the randomiser 10. strictness rovers the oedipus switch, a philologist’s pet laughing abomination, supported by a private joke — no shows of derivation, no concrete symbol — did we ever get to the end of the drought? clarifying entrances to caveats of body image memory, grass lightly growing on blues hills — this musical umber taste for memorising, & lies bandied about the onus; gloomy or obstinate, day by day making the “it” new — any decayed virtue cast upon any pale footy coach’s couch billeted against harsh hot sands of the old hamstring, or playing possum somewhere up shit creek, up where the wrecks brew — the palatial termite mounds crisped in opposition to the sacred 11. but how obstinate, how therapeutic? a point where the mot juste becomes unjust — a logarithm of after dinner mints & distraught viewpoints, marriages, treaties broken, better & better DVDs,
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