this is not a fifo poem

this is not a fifo poem
or a love poem
or a newman airport riddle
it’s a list of brilliant metaphors
listening to a hundred thousand
clive palmers without a face
or an earpiece
goodbye. goodbye.
my drunken goodbyes , wet-eyed
at the edge of this battered country
we’re collecting simple ideas
in haul packs, an endless riff
of cleared spinifex plains
under 50 degree lunch sun
beer, shiraz eyes
taste of pindan, ochre arms wider
than this island of empty white noise


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