navigated by satellite direct to Japan.
You want the best view? Sublime Pt.
Lookout, right down the coast, the
Pacific ironed flat far as the eye can
see, a sky expanded metal-red nightly.

Girl. Gold. Boat

out of Port Moresby. The obese
Oxford villain tumbles overboard
speared by the fuzzy-wuzzies. Our
hero, Captain Singleton, finally

puts his shirt back on and tilts
his cap to the sunset. He places one
arm around his sweetheart and the
other at the helm. The sea falls into

suburbs of light, a topiary of
Islands could be mist. He is American
and at home in the world as he
moves forward on the celluloid tides.

He came out of sickness country
(sic) he came out of the Holy Land.

Domestic Pack Shots

1. The Gays Next Door

shrieking like hyenas in
their sexual mirth to the disco
bang of Madonna making her
mint in the sacrilegious from the
sacred. For some, perhaps, a
continuous custom to hang together
whatever sense of family may
be had once the wild oats
have passed into the photograph album:
circa: June, in some tumbled month,
the garden hose spurting champagne
and the neighbour, suspect as
an affair, out of shot.

2. Working Hot

Joe Hammer makes his move on
screen and the girl cries out for Mamma.
A family of sperm packs up and moves
house. The removal of limbs.
The images dim to an impotent mauve
and the stage act begins. Shes
only working warm, consistent as a
vibrator. She hopes one day
to make big bucks; the conference
room, that is, before she hits twenty.
The one spotlight fixes on
the portico between her thighs.
The audience soughs in the dark. Strippers
dont have no union, strippers dont.
O Karen, your smile, cool as a cucumber.

3. Hooking For Jesus

Let us sing the rosellas who
buckle under branches for the paper-bark
blossom, and the far distant shadows
on slate-roofs. Let us herald the
Children of God, the Family of Love,
progeny of the Jesus Freaks founded in
Oakland, California back in the 70s.
And this child, who believes
Bethlehem resides in her fourteen year
old womb. Hers is the pioneering
spirit caught in a spectral watercolour.
There she leans, under the guiding
star of a single streetlight, while
bluestone clouds move away over
St Kilda into yellow, polite paddocks.

4. The Priest Across The Lane

in the presbytery is maxed out
from the exo-bike, beads of sweat drip
off his fingertips. He is purged
of the last house-boy