This sprung out of reading an article about JG Ballard and watching people on Brunswick St.,
Ballard Days
We live in the Ballard days.
We bare our bullet torn flesh,
our steering wheel cracked ribs
but deny the pierced heart of
our internal bleeding.
We bare the radiation burns
as marks of piety
but think nothing of the cancer
and how it quietly spreads within us.
We inure ourselves to the constant
degradation of our bodies
and wake up every morning
a little further behind the 8-ball.
We wake every morning
change the bandages
and recycles the letters
from the doctor saying
“Your results are back. Call me.”
Reading: “We Will Disappear” – David Prater
Listening: “Money Changes Everything” – The Smiths
