Fuck your family parks.

Fuck your family parks,

For gardens of fuck dust and virility,

Deep and doggy style in strewn explicit litter,

In obvious but well hidden niches – in precarious hill side glades,

What won’t manage a buggy for you,

Is a warren of orgy to us,

Animal counter-measure to your pacifying rose gardens,

And playing fields of meek compliance.


Fuck your world class cuisine,

Bad sushi and overpriced wine,

Venue fronts dripping in judgement and misery.

For the adrenaline of muffled thumps,

Of dusty swing doors,

Symbolic popcorn and kernels like sand,

Sticky, tight-chested with close breath

And signalling,


For strobed release and strings of cum,

Anonymous interludes in films never seen,

But waited on.


Fuck your halls of trinkets,

Great cement leaches of the cityscape,

Fuck your homeware, cheap garb and perfume.

We’ll reinstate the wild,

In a temple,

Of piss soaked porcelain and hungry stares,

Of mud on toilet rims

And holes for whispers,

Of shadow code across tile and fluid,

Lair’s for the easy indoctrination of your machines.


Fuck your churches and your light codes,

Our pew’s are gnarly branches,

Cold stone floors,

The long grass on the perimeter –

Our sermon unfolds in dark room sensations,

And meditation in the silence around heartbeats,

Prayers fleshy and elemental,

We make our way to church as civilian,

Engage in ritual like creatures,

Fucking questions into everything you hold dear.





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