I've learned
how to be a child of divorce

not through the quarrels
of mother and father
because mine still haunt each other.

But through my own
struggles of living
two separate lives.

One of a student
bound to study
being a socialite of aristocrats  
through my informality of university.

The other a family man
or a family boy
one that wants to soliloquy
and urge the importance
of unity with my brothers and sisters.

Spread between
two homes that don't quite
fill my needs or
meet my enthusiasms.

They are lost to me
equally lost to each other--
these two homes
used to be equal
but now they demand to be separate.

Euphoria of returning to
the old seaside cocoon.
The place of change and shift
of heart and mind,
and tide which
pushed the town
right back
in January.

The next day we looked out at the promenade
in pieces like an emptied out jigsaw box
but cheered for postponed exams
so we could cherish important things,
like a night out at the Pier, and long talks.

Returning back
finding it’s still
just the same
as the train parts
through the hills
and forward
to the dead end
that began it all.

You hide behind
knowledge like
a shield you

feel stronger
when you know
the answers,

when you know
the answers,
when you know.

I read about death and violence

I proof read,
and top up
and eject
and print
and scan
and hand in
and sometimes I get full marks.

Mark.
Marks
Marks on the body.
Mark my words.
(Mark my work.)
Karl ******* Marx
The communist who launched a thousand memes.

My oh my.

//

The necropolitical is like a funnel
a filter,
a sieve.
Like baking,
only you didn't forget to put the oven on
and people are inside the oven and so are you.

It's not like with the toaster
when ur mum tells u to scrap the black crumbs into the drain.

It's not like you can unburn the burnt.
Oh and the skin grafts?
There's a waiting list for that.
The waiting list?
There's a form for you to get on that.
The forms?
You need to print them out.
The printer?
OUT OF ORDER.
Buy your own.
OUT OF STOCK.
Your bank balance?
FUNDS INSUFFICIENT.
Your bank?
Sorry you have reached us out of outside of our operating hours.

Outside
Outside of our
Outside of our operating
of our operating hours
operating hours
and hours
and hours
and hours
Thanks for holding! A representative will be with you shortly...

[Dave Dobbyn music continues playing through the phone]

Solving for the x. Step by step
Time is clocking theres no time for any misstep
Thought I had been getting ready for these arithmetics
But now I feel like in anesthetics. Maybe it aint in my genetics

These mathematics got me feelin dumb
Aint got energy to solve. Ive been feeding myself of crumbs, been livin in a slum
Aint easy to have the mind in the equations when everything else is off
Balancing these numbers dont go so peasy when all I want to do is tell the world to *******

Because who cares about this x when theres no money in the checkbook
I got more problems than the chapters in this textbook
Hoping all this senseless calculations will improve my situation
But waiting for the future is hard when Im living on a ration

Been working all my hours in exchange for some dollars
All of this cause my momma said the only ones that make it are the scholars
But the work I put in seems to be less than the money I receive.
And it all goes away to the bills. Got barely any left to live.

Divide the provisions and multiply the meals
Make sure that tonights dinner is a bit more than beans
Hope that my body has had enough proteins to keep all this going on
Because it seems my mind is about to shut down.  Dont know if I can find the answer you were hoping for.

I've become a vegetable
not in the whoops that was an especially bad fall
down those apartment stairs
quasi paraplegic kind of sense--
I am spry and sprouting
blushing with energetic vibrance.

I am so fluorescent
that my own aptitude of radiation
could be consider toxic--
if you had to stand beside me
on an extended elevator ride
rising too high
above our natural destinations down low;
I'd be inclined to warn you
to lean a few more feet to the otherside.

It's that I am blessed with an enchanting
of endless blossoms of hopefulness
as the mills of life
work to grain down my wheatfulness.

Before my journey
I bloomed in the small countrysides of Central California
a place the Northern and Southern side don't even realize exist--
coming from simple towns with simple names
with a simple way of life.

How can a boy from Strawberry
step into the roots of a decaying tree of spruce
when the hearty oak woods of home
are calling his name.

She lines herself before me, eyes halting her gait like a rod rid of bait
Trotting her feet again in my way, not perturbed or frightened by me

The churning distress tongues speak about us on the whiteboard each week
Is finally bringing us together, her delicate neck craned ****-eyed

Tip-toe though your feet are crashing, and all pretense of slicing your eyes at me is mashing
But I play her game and look up at the ceiling, red blouse she's got on like honey

Her body pours over, spilling a little as her foot twitches too far and she jabs my leg accidentally hard
I'm forced to look over, that cunning smile done up like hair, you

I meet her, she smiles, she apologises, I smile and nod, saying it's ok, because it is for a while
But when she glides on by I'm angry that her mistake wasn't falling into my useful lap

Like wardrums, that sound, footsteps echoing deep bass-like from the ground
And soaking my skin in flannel bravery and horror at what I can see

Her walking away from me, until next week, the dancing meek kittens
Ashamed to make mouths say what eyes can only guess at

'Hello, how are you, would you like to know my name?'
'Not really for I learnt it long ago, but tell me just the same'

All day I hear nothing
From flat above;
Not a footstep,
Not a thud.
All’s silent and then,
With dread,
I wonder if they’re still alive
And hope that they’re not dead!
And pray that’s not the reason why
I never hear them move
Across the floor above
In thumpy-thuddy shoes.
To take my mind off
Thoughts of death and blood
I imagine that
The flat upstairs
Is home
To one gianormous slug.
Who never makes a sound,
Well,
Because he has no feet
And doesn’t need to go outside
Go to the shops or walk down the street
Because he’s filled his room with lots of houseplants
So he can just stay in to eat.
But safe to say
I’m reassured
At night when I try to sleep
I hear the very lively sound of
Noisy stomping feet
Then sigh happily that they’re alive
And smile, glad that I can still use salt.
Without the fear of dissolving my landlord’s tenants
And it being all my fault.

Night after night
I would hear heavy feet prance
In the room above
There was so much clomping and
Loud stamping and clobbering
That I’m pretty convinced
They’re teaching elephants
how to riverdance.

Because of cause elephants cannot naturally jump
So they teach them to dance
in an effort to (metaphorically) Thump
mother nature on the nose
And say ‘look at these elephants bouncing
Like pros.
You’ve seen Tigger spring about Winnie the Pooh,
But check out what these here elephants can do’

So that is my explanation to the noises upstairs
And I understand why it’s only at night because
To teach elephants in the daytime
Well, that would cause a whole lot of
Unnecessary affairs
And a lot of fuss
From the press
Who would publicise the classes to the world
And then elephants from everywhere
Would travel in their droves
With their hearts set on
Being able to one day skip and hop
And not have to sit down at the discos
Everytime they heard music for the jive or the bop
And the RSPCA would back it cause
They’d say it’s only fair
That elephants have the same opportunity to
Learn how to jump in the air.
And then there’d be a problem see because
There would be no space for all the elephants
To fit in a small, town house room
And expect to have space to river dance;
Well, what a stew!
So that’s why they hold the lessons at night,
In secret,
with a class of perhaps two,
Maybe three elephants at most.
And then they’re silent in the daytime because
Dancing wears you out
So they sleep until the night falls
And then they dance and prance about;
Very, very noisily
While those sleeping
And those trying to sleep below
Gradually doze off to the sounds of
The future elephant Michael Flatley
Upstairs practicing for their first dancing show.

Well, that’s one explanation
My alternative one is
That the flat above is home
To a nocturnal giant
Who likes to tap dance.
But that doesn’t seem quite as likely.