Ultradian rhythm by Pam Brown

oppspinn,
     I think that’s
  Finnish for ‘made up’

places to go like      Sarcadia
 or Sfax
     or here,              just across the tram-track
from Bingo
       on the top floor next door
                             to Blockbuster
(a kind of
             pre-cognitive landmark)
under the antenna-nest
         of the dream bird
   that hatches the egg
                       of experience, boredom.

also ‘made-up’
          & performed –
   optimism,                like
peacetime’s modern luxury –
      having a grave
                            all to yourself

down below
                    the traffic
     sounds like the sea,
like the Pacific          (perhaps)
   rising under
                   a pall of poison,
           islands sinking
as morning’s white moon
     still dangles
in the sickly blue
               behind the mobile phone tower.

sherbet-brained,
       fizzily beginning to feel
    like Nietzsche spake –
                      nothing is worth anything

insects frolic
                in my hairs,
I open another dusty book
             in the weak Roman shade

seems like    Brisbane
              summer grey
and I’ve come so very far
              to make this small comparison

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