“It’s a deep dirty secret, in Australia, that I’m the wrong class to be a poet.”

The octopus is dead
who lived in Wylies Baths

 Whatever the great religions offer
it is afterlife their people want:
Heaven, Paradise, higher reincarnations,

I glory centennially slow-
ly in being Guugumbakh the
strangular fig bird-born to overgrow
the depths of this wasp-leafed stinging-tree,

All me are standing on feed. The sky is shining.

All me have just been milked. Teats all tingling still
from that dry toothless sucking by the chilly mouths