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Toby Fitch |
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In Memory of My
Furlings |
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In Memory of My Furlings |
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& drags me slowly like a creaky ship thru the CBD she’s unlike anything except maybe a cloud of bats at night / like letters my anxiety has several furlongs & so many bristling little selves i bear against the creatures who readily pretend they’re human / not the weapons they’ve become pointing to the sky in winter they’re cold as aircon / taste of sweaty equipment from which i slip split into warm coastal waters out beyond the flags i stare back at the unthinkable worlds that continue to clash & think i’d prefer to be baffled / broken redistributed by waves their pulsing blue pillowcases / & by Frankie & Freddy who swim up thru the Anthropocene to meet me where it’s turquoise we nap together they speak of underwater mares but i’m too purple to hear the polar bears bassooning their discomfort w/ the heat that echoes to the poles & back of the plastic gyre squelching its dulled mirror its floating veil / its shadow on the waters of the indebted & gravity-locked meanwhile a Coke in my ex’s freezer “explodes” one of me darts from pub door #7 / one of me is yanked by a chain & one of me jumps the double white-lines to avoid being struck / another me hovers b/w landing planes / bird’s -eye view of the next me perambulating thru Newtown Enmore Marrickville / & all the other me’s pushing prams thru parks in criss-cross patterns Minkys running doggy arcs about us our impervious & fuzzy half-awake babies squinting at the late afternoon light that slants in b/w muslin & pram hood & underneath each wheel as i round The Bends over Bilgola head losing another hair / body letting loose another ghost the back-end of the Mazda i was in sliding out & thru a gap in oncoming traffic the rain of At the Drive In pelting me w/ the drops of a future death / cilia on the insides of the lungs & bowels of earth pushing shit along & the sphincters inside of me gaping for one another they won’t find each other any more than my others’ll find me / each of us in our respective wormholes but each able to see how so many of our obscurities resist are contrary / partly terrified of a glaring mushroom-cloud dream partly trying to circumvent whatever commodity fetishism they’re subject to & partly just flaking out like little moons w/ dandruff lolling across a toothily numb-dark horizon my covert creatures dank inside my coat pants & pockets / busting to come out & take it from those who’d hunt big game w/ their LEDs oblivious to the helical pasts & futures that 3D-print themselves now into the dark of neighbouring galaxies / glowing i dip behind a scraper / whistling as if no one could possibly’ve noticed how i almost pulled a trigger on that particular teddied me tho Minky’s eyes did / reddened / barked at how hard my opaque eyes had come to seem in their modes of perpetual escape so i kiss her & we flip about like puppies in a box on the interwebs wriggling / panting / not w/out panic & not w/out a certain icy comeback reserved for & justified in those kinds of webby fields when we need to but acquiescent enough to the necessity scrolling up & down thru rippling neon hills which presciently come to resemble the furlings & unfurlings i continue to have to save & put down |
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