I’m shifting the furniture of my mind,
breaking the bed that offers no respite,
getting rid of the mouldy couch the god sleeps on,
I’m throwing the tellie that’s stuck on reruns.
& tonight, when the neighbours are within themselves,
I’ll set fire to all the dusty bookshelves.
Soon I’ll be left with just
white walls & bleached tiles.
. Like a vacant womb, a tabula rasa.
First published as Removal in Windmills, Issue 8, November 2011
At a trash ‘n’ treasure market,
in an average town,
an old radio
encased in bakelite.
Plugged in &
waiting for the valves to warm
I took to the dial with a frothing sense of urgency,
twisting past horse races & rock & roll,
past right wing commentary,
. searching for the frequency of God,
long lost in digital audio,
. sure to be found
in the silver soldered
magic of a romanticised time.
. & there
at the end
of the amplitude modulated band,
. megahertz away from any generic noise,
. a perfect silence.
Published in Windmills, Fifth Edition, November 2010
Published in Best Australian Poems 2011
Published in Notes for Translators 2012, December 2012
Published on robbiecoburn.com
the migraine visions
rapid fire persuasion
commercials selling a
the great amerigan dream
the right to bear
arms with hollywood tattoos
sponsored by life in a can
be all that you can
rape land without reservation
only history changes
oh say can you see
by the dawn’s neon light
one small step for man
one big mac for mankind
First published in Velour, October 2011
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