(Dedicated to Daddy. Happy Birthday, Dad!)
The long poem of walking manipulates
A straight-laced distingue gentleman
Aimlessly typing mundane thoughts
Neither foreign to them
To extend a helping hand
It’s cold outside in
Creates shadows and ambiguities
Ingrained in our street lexicon
Made out of sand, blow away
Like a peddler, carrying something surprising
First shriek of the summer cicada
One minute of space and time
Modern art of everyday expression
Meaning considerably more complex
Than drama-queen theatrics
Two complementary poles
Exercising our right to Democracy
And having a break for smokes and beer
Yesterday was only painted
Summer nights that smell like bushfires
Wafting smoke from his cigarette
Every walk constantly leaps or skips
Maintain some semblance of empathy
That’s bullshit
Gaps in the spatial continuum
Illustrated for us years ago
Rebuilding glass castles
Inseparable from the dreamed place
“F—kin arsey c—t”
This was fun—let’s do it again…
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De Certeau, Michel. (1988) “Walking in the City.” The Practice of Everyday Life (trans. Steven Randall) Berkely:
Owen, Alexander M. (2004) “UnAustralian? It’s just not cricket…” Blitz Magazine 16-22 May p.9
<>Trinh, Annie. (2004) “Email #2087-Observing from the 110th floor.” 12 May
