Wobbling the old bony chair across the gnarly floorboards

Kass, taking down your bandana, rolling your left pant leg up

Unworried, now, about budgeting tobacco crumbs,

bumpuffing brazenly in a house of weeds up to your waist

and ancient tins with tongues of stiffened paint

Kassandra. 80 kgs of abandoned meat. I’m not bein mean,

but you look like a boxing bag, hanging from the creaking ceiling, the chain tinkling.

A trickle of piss drops on the white knots of your High Tops

You laced them just-so, a precise bow between your swinging feet.


Kass, man, admit it, suck it up – Every kid in school heard the beam break,

Your mum’s empty bucket lungs.

Kick back, chillax, everyone that has a kid gets that fat.

Forget about the seven bucks, I was jokin, Kass.

What’s it like to swim into space?

Can ghosts guess people’s passwords? I need you to do me a solid:

Go into this girl’s inbox. Find out why she done it.

I tried to ask your brother at the tangi, oi,

James, he used to seem so scary; now he’s soaked in water, body heavy.

I tried to seize his arm, cold and floppy, couldn’t shake his stunned anvil hand.