daze of body & soul come to a / won’t come to an
       end on this / the last night of dearth  
             browsing eBay & Etsy / the Cloud i erode
       drops in & butts out like a tide
u appear in my inboxed head eating snow
       eggs & depression for dessert as if
             Bondi Beach were fatigued of its breathing
       unsound government ships the crowds
back off into knots i glance at
       the sea / poles flip & newspolls murk / spill
             over/ as vague as a wave it is
       career weather for doze who believe He loves us
all in the choked capital of wherever    
             i / u / our brain didn’t go

looking for grief after noon / it found us
       in the form of an algorithm that could remember
             & dismember our feeds / our new dream
       scrolls in reverse that echo
(according to music vids & some fat
       graphic lips in a txt)
             the future consumption of everything before it’s even
       been munched thru like ancient gums
suffering Hillsong yr funding’s been
       approved by the Ministry for Excellence /
             Spirit / __________ but mate
       it cannot be redeemed for bodily release
in the Cross shutdown by new police power & assumption that
             our impact on the environment won’t be felt

out there in the multiverse
       apparitions behove themselves as certain
             heads of state racing long into action deferred
       mouthing out confected norms as swift & whimsical as
horses for courses men continue to fall from
       the sky caused Obama anger / joy /
             guilt told a story factoidally
       something about the seven plots of our Hadron Collider
existence looping round like hope /
       happiness / liberty / __________
             but the feelings downloaded got stuck in
       a sinkhole / promises resounded
& the earthworms began to travel w/ tradition again / asking
             do u remember yr body or bodies

curled up together / wanting to buy for a long time
       machine that can fatalise any experience there is/was no terror
             that couldn’t be franchised out for all the purple
       warming into peepholes online
the storm-rented sky/sea became stationary
       another perfect accident for sadness journos to parse out over
             the future’s raging culture wars that u & i trouble
       for a fleeting exit strategy to the current
maze we fund ourselves in
       & numb to the looming crash of
             summer / winter air
       delicate explosions that fall foam & home
in on the present w/ a superinhuman
             affection / pure surface

Toby Fitch

Recording