rmit. public art.
site analysis.
the gap. shitty city.
the gap.shitty city.melbourne
the gap every year that sound gets louder
I think it’s the city melbourne
it could be the whole country
that noise like a hum
angrier than that but not a growl
I think it’s the city like a hummmm
could be the whole country
as I stand cold jasmine in the morning
no bra on the backyard bricks
when I was little it was far away
the city but now that noise is near
a fence away steps and strokes in the footpath
every year that sound gets louder
I think it’s the city melbourne
maybe it’s the whole country
sad I want to be in the bush
when I was little it was far away
the whole country that noise
melbourne
something is missing
frail but not found
and not looked for and yet
here it is a gap a nameless gully
a wreck a city
noise a mess amuck
a sound and a smell
they pissed here too many times
the smell is a noise men or boys
would a woman do this
they pissed here
over and over
is there nowhere else to go
we are shipwrecked here
wrecked here in this nameless gully
nowhere in the city
they pissed here deep into the crevasse
they pissed here over and over
the smell is a noise in my chest
like a sentiment a memory
of a homeless man no choice
not even about the smell
a sentiment they pissed here
who
men and boys would a woman do this
nobody seems to care though here about piss
they pissed here
over and over
who
that smell is a noise in the earth
beneath the rubble and muck spewed down this lane
it is nowhere really down flinders alley
down in melbourne
nowhere really and yet
you’ll find it anywhere
that noise that smell
the smell is a noise
cars and trucks reversing
people noise
how old is the beer can
how long will it last the earth
grew spew here and holds it
deep in a nameless gully
a gap
in the city
something is missing and yet
they’ll never look for it here.
.june 2006.
20.8.06
14.8.06
cumberland river
there was a red glow through the bush. late afternoon. it is the fifth day of fires in anakie.
i am not far. and yet. it is silent here and hot.
brisbane ranges are gone.
kings way
two pigeons. more. many. wary. one. none.
kings way overpass
2.10pm
a.
surveyor tracks.
confused traffic.
road wrapped in robes of road.
slung together with a sash of steel. lights.
for pedestrians where they do not care.
to cross.
thirty-six traffic lights in fifty.
square metres.
dark.
underthebridgeweloseourbearings
theroadrumblesandswaysusoffcourse
none of theses are.
north.
a patch of wayward weed and wet soil. a splash of sun. shine on the other side.
people emerge. from dark pockets.
at the edges. gladiators from their dens.
car parks.
two pigeons. more. many. wary. one. none. a man. crosses. looking. there and there and there. before. he steps. he has the green man but that green man locked up in that box high up on his post he cannot see the world for looking. he cannot be trusted.
your guiding light.
dirty grey dusty red.
the ground eats itself up.
grows warty without.
a tree to hide its hurt.
the puff of cars hangs.
beneath the bridge.
a child’s breath.
on a tram window.
smog. spreads a little.
not far and.
slips away.
creeps slowly again.
out. spreads a little and.
slips away.
maps in zoos national parks and big cities. they all wear away in just that.
spot. someplace. where all things converge.
the. you are here. spot.
and we poke it to reaffirm what we already knew.
we poke it until that spot is.
gone.
now.
just.
a pale.
worn smudge.
where something used to be.
now.
we can’t work out what that was.
we can’t work out where we are.
we can’t see where to go.
this place is nothing. here.
a place where too many things converged. too many things lead to this.
a child’s breath. this place disappears.
bolts and pillars. studs and steel.
a little too far from the swirl of the river to be interesting.
a little too close to nothing to be noticed.
kings way overpass2.10pm
a.
surveyor tracks.
confused traffic.
road wrapped in robes of road.
slung together with a sash of steel. lights.
for pedestrians where they do not care.
to cross.
thirty-six traffic lights in fifty.
square metres.
dark.
underthebridgeweloseourbearings
theroadrumblesandswaysusoffcourse
none of theses are.
north.
a patch of wayward weed and wet soil. a splash of sun. shine on the other side.
people emerge. from dark pockets.
at the edges. gladiators from their dens.
car parks.
two pigeons. more. many. wary. one. none. a man. crosses. looking. there and there and there. before. he steps. he has the green man but that green man locked up in that box high up on his post he cannot see the world for looking. he cannot be trusted.
your guiding light.
dirty grey dusty red.
the ground eats itself up.
grows warty without.
a tree to hide its hurt.
the puff of cars hangs.
beneath the bridge.
a child’s breath.
on a tram window.
smog. spreads a little.
not far and.
slips away.
creeps slowly again.
out. spreads a little and.
slips away.
maps in zoos national parks and big cities. they all wear away in just that.
spot. someplace. where all things converge.
the. you are here. spot.
and we poke it to reaffirm what we already knew.
we poke it until that spot is.
gone.
now.
just.
a pale.
worn smudge.
where something used to be.
now.
we can’t work out what that was.
we can’t work out where we are.
we can’t see where to go.
this place is nothing. here.
a place where too many things converged. too many things lead to this.
a child’s breath. this place disappears.
bolts and pillars. studs and steel.
a little too far from the swirl of the river to be interesting.
a little too close to nothing to be noticed.
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