cocky cuntz
if you ask me i’d say these mohawked pricks
who spend their days perched on the limp
powerlines that crisscross the highway
bypassing town
have heard the word cocky
and let that built-like-a-brick-shithouse who’s your
uncle knobhead nickname go straight to their
unsanctimonious shit-factories
unloading an artillery
of seedy new-age nuggets
that look like a feral picasso if it was pissed through
a reverse henry ford factory like the advice
you get from an interior stylist upstart
redesigning your aunt’s kitchen
more white space please
redefining shit-for-brains demanding a sorta
ecstasy enthusiasm from the emaciated
windscreen wipers as they screech
across the waste recycled tea leaves
our return home a burst slush fund
council chambers
democratic privilege is a concrete
lego block post-lenin that musta got
a squeeze on the excess glass from
the louvre pyramid same year chrissy
gifted a bunnings gift card: outdoor ferns
democratic privilege is being shit-pocked
on the edge of a park named after a mayor
with the same criminal history with women
as bob hawke one trip advisor review reading
‘it’s the nicest park in town but still very dingy’
democratic privilege is a nuclear
compound blofeld super complex
with red ochre windows a sorta sales
pitch in hard plastic or a bloody bayonet
democratic privilege is mock-up
brutalist architecture its only
twin-stooge the local cop shop
that looks more like a missile silo
than a refuge