ÿþ<html> <head> <meta http-equiv=content-type content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> <title>slope 16</title> <style type="text/css"> p,td { font-family: "georgia", "arial", "helvetica"; text-decoration:none; font-size:11px; color:#000000; margin-top:9px; margin-bottom:9px;} p.poem { font-family: "georgia", "arial", "helvetica"; text-decoration:none; font-size:11px; color:#000000; margin-top:40px; margin-bottom:60px;} a { font-family: "georgia", "arial", "helvetica"; text-decoration:none; font-size:11px; color:#77280a; } a:hover { font-family: "georgia", "arial", "helvetica"; text-decoration:underline; font-size:11px; color:#77280a; } </style> </head> <body bgcolor="#ffffff" background="images/bg.gif" topmargin="0" leftmargin="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0"> <table border="0" width="750" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" align="center"> <tr> <td> <object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=4,0,0,0" width="750" height="127" id="topmenu" align=""> <param name=movie value="topmenu.swf"> <param name=quality value=high> <param name=bgcolor value=#ffffff> <embed src="topmenu.swf" quality=high bgcolor=#ffffff width="750" height="127" name="topmenu" align="" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed> </object> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <img src="images/page_top.gif" /><br /> </td> </tr> <tr> <td background="images/page_bg.gif" style="padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 50px; padding-right: 50px;"> <img src="images/title_new.gif" /> <p><b>Liam Ferney</b> lives in Brisbane, Australia.</p> <p class="poem"> <b>Showing Your Arse / Bending the Rules</b><br /> <br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>for Paul and Brett</i><br /> <br /> you get tossed out of a black tie dinner<br /> at the lodge because you ve got tourettes<br /> & its even funnier than the time you dosed<br /> janet howard with a spiked pepsi bottle;<br /> late in the night on the roof,<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;howling at the moon.<br /> <br /> if this proves libelous i ll offer you a settlement<br /> sweetened with a share of the royalties<br /> & when all this blows over drop by my pad<br /> in the maldives and we ll drink harvey<br /> wallbangers getting soft on the perks of industry.<br /> <br /> maybe in the ensuing slew of scandal and scuttlebutt<br /> i ll even get an opportunity to meet bob ellis,<br /> after all it s his ability to get pulped<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;that makes me jealous.<br /> </p> <p class="poem"> <b>vague sundays</b><br /> <br /> With an upward gaze he strokes his chin<br /> in a baroque style reminding everyone<br /> of rock and roll<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;booming rawlarge through<br /> the wurlitzers of culture, a definitive Elvis<br /> anthology. He knew where he was when<br /> France claimed a flash Mercedes, sipping<br /> a cigarette break latte and flicking through<br /> the property section as though it were the form<br /> guide detailing the hot spring carnival selection.<br /> We don t notice the things that are most important<br /> to us and what s more a ripped Coke can blind<br /> us with its glare<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;knocked out by the sun, we don t even care.<br /> </p> <p class="poem"> <b>5PM</b><br /> <br /> The tvs come on in all the living rooms<br /> & it s the last surreptitious moments of freedom<br /> before the parents get off their buses and<br /> out of their cars and come home from work.<br /> The house smells like shoes, leftover nachos<br /> <br /> on the table, there is a complex politics to<br /> everything the brother and sister are doing. Mum<br /> doesn t understand and the youngest clings to<br /> her hem like lichen terrified by the b-grade<br /> British kitsch of davros and his daleks.<br /> <br /> These are myths they don t bother recording<br /> and it s only later that they realise somethings<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;missing. </p> <p class="poem"> <b>dust</b><br /> <br /> the tobacco farmers weep out their windows<br /> their hearts wrung of tears like the last drops<br /> of water from a stubborn tea towel they know that<br /> one of these cold nights poor manufacturing will claim<br /> the lightbulb in the kitchen and the draughts whistling<br /> through the house like darts render candles inoperative.<br /> <br /> it takes a special skill to plumb these depths late at night<br /> looking for those treasures that lie in the wake of the task<br /> that both philosophers and whores are apt to do and all the<br /> time the moonlight in shafts smears your skin like the black<br /> blood of a plague that happened in an epoch long before<br /> you walked into a bookstore and chose camus over carver.<br /> </p> <p class="poem"> <b><i>holiday poem</i></b><br /> <br /> losing sight of the rocky beach<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;we float out in the<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;blue crystal at the edge<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;of a mini cove<br /> <br /> we stayed for days in the rhythm<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;of the ocean tallies in<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;ice in plastic bags hanging<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;from the tree<br /> <br /> port at night listening to one dayers<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;in the car the saltsound<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;of the ocean fresh in our ears<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;pushing the envelope of<br /> <br /> bravado we swell the numbers at<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;the pub and take over<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;the pool table and the<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;dart board<br /> <br /> parataxis is something you forget<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;about in the sun<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;and only remember<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;you wake up<br /> <br /> kerouac-faced and champin at the<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;bit to get it all down<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;but no stanza will<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;ever take you back.<br /> </p> <p class="poem"> <b>"Grunter s gotta do,<br /> what Grunter s gotta do !"</b><br /> <br /> the trouble with dichotomies<br /> is that you ll always end up on one side<br /> of a besser brick wall with a stick of dynamite<br /> in your hand and typing far quicker<br /> than the words appear on your screen<br /> the screech of a vulture or tires signals<br /> doom and you start to count back towards<br /> the definitive moment in you re life when<br /> you became that person you were today<br /> but its retrospective and impossible like the way<br /> I can t remember when i started writing<br /> in the third person like a frustrated second<br /> rower down on game time and form<br /> being interviewed after the game they ve just lost<br /> you ve just lost the vulture swoops the holden<br /> pounces and the dichotomies all dissolve<br /> as you bounce off the hood the last drop of water<br /> evaporates off your tongue and the night<br /> falls across your eyes like an overabundant<br /> pension of booze and pharmaceuticals-<br /> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;ya dig !<br /> </p> <p class="poem"> <b>Have you ever seen the rain ?</b><br /> <br /> A snail s day or the way a junkie s eyes<br /> scan the cab of an unlocked ute in a busy<br /> suburban carpark reminds me of a spiky<br /> desert lizard shuffling out from beneath<br /> his hiding place to sun itself an hour<br /> while twin Thunderbirds, driven by teenagers<br /> <br /> playing the roles of impossible tragedy<br /> and tragic impossibility, pull up head to head<br /> on an empty road. He hands her something<br /> wrapped in tissue paper and she smiles while<br /> his eyes rest comfortably on an unnamed rock.<br /> Without even thinking she gets back in the car<br /> <br /> like an astronaut going into space, there s some-<br /> thing he s forgotten, he s never even seen her face.<br /> </p> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <img src="images/page_bottom.gif" /><br /> </td> </tr> </table> </body> </html>