


Ed Ruscha, a favourite
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Praha
no customs checks
no cell signal
*
driven there downhill -
AAA taxi driver on alcohol
*
from his messy suitcase
Michael reads
an early novel
by the sad king of Czech literature
*
Louis asks
‘why not
describe everything backwards’
& answers
‘because it’s impossible’
*
to dream the impossible
palindrome
*
no souvenir cockroach
in the Franz Kafka boutique
*
five large Bubo owls
caged
at the national senate
*
skinheads on the 18 tram
to Petřiny
*
Plastic People of the Universe,
proto punk 1969
*
cháo khi gãp,
Vietnamese
at the local Trafika
*
at varying intervals
homeless people with grimy skin
rat through the same bin
in Wenceslas Square
*
I buy a book
about
Bohumil Hrabal
Rehab for Everyone
hands so cold
fingers cold
tucked under legs
sitting in insect hiss
low white noise
gas heater undertone
no other sound
nothing
almost asleep,
a car pulling up the hill
a currawong
does that shrill thing
into pink air
a huge open yawn
almost breaks my jaw
the pen that makes the marks
alters the angles of the letters
a patch
of yesterday’s chocolate
stuck to my corduroy sleeve -
a signal
imagined and interpreted
we look back
at the years in the tops
waiting to be taken out of time
red brick
wall map of Australia
grass green carpet
mustard coloured plastic chairs
clumpy piling on the mittens
mitts on the keyboard
pushing thoughts and jingles
out
to Dublin to Seattle,
Adelaide, Kane`ohe,
Faversham, Glebe
sadly notating dim trivia
me-minus-you
outside community
literary festivals
can’t help anyone
like a rehab book sale
making mistakes,
so different
from being morally wrong
in an unsettling world
it‘s a rabbit life,
built the walls from Castrol cases
black tyre ribbons
strewn
like a giant’s licorice
under the striated cutting
siding on the highway,
say goodbye
to the Woodford bends
sometimes the clunky
can incandesce
but I want to know
how to vitalize gawkiness,
sometimes
I’m in my no-mind sometimes
in a technological mindlessness
sometimes nowhere near limber,
although that’s unusual
some people
just float along all the time
accumulating the placid
sometimes
when you think you’re going down
you’re not,
you’re going straight ahead
to a utopia of modernity.