The Gold Rush

by: Corey Wakeling

1. WOOL: Plane Tree Forum

UNDER TEMPEST’S HAIL of pollen you both alec the goodie cul-de-sac duchy shooting ganza from the stoop wizened but repainted, much then in hoodwink to adore. Woollen

platinum bedressed, this, must hammer-tongs the private history not known nativity, and with
thanks not St. Bartholomew’s either. Thanks especially to Criteria.

The last will & testament open belly.

2. WHALE OIL: Suburbs

THE EAR TO the wheel through Burwood, fashion a trident out of coat hangers since not yet

spoken for; somebody will speak yet. Fulgurite alpine visions in electricity, the mind on

the weirdly Platonic nature of our discourse then. I see lacerations, you see cicatrix, the car
sees the wheel to the ear through Burwood, would best careen on Milton’s cosmology were

another’s infancy not predicated on it, swathed. The daub party to evisceration made

Kalamunda moot point the muted about dais at Classics ante-room the common, save the

rabid dying their desperation

suburban midnights in spring, dint for great white shark pneumonia phenomenon. And the

northern hemispherical vulcanology, the pustules in water, the watery avenues the spoken

bespeak, I like the possibility of mud, where instead survey trouble, and the eyeball lights of
teleology. Drive home messianic, at least then this family hierarchy the petty-bourgeois

sits beneath

3. TALLOW: Smith Street

IMMACULATEST COPROLALIA. SO the virtues of the salvaged body, the artefact that

galls the paramour to Jetstar gambol to-fro continent Ryanair roulette. No roulade,

no food bar Bile Town’s secession from this pork roll begging casement. It cries when killed
Eros, it cries when killed handshake, because the Stevens emphasis

all my faculties demand light the sprite turpitude for the Swami incumbent, because pagan

would still be landed then and I need spirits spirits, to drink goat milk

and be Episcopalian maw to the croaky ubiquity of Toyota in my history. The Bass Strait I

keep phantom sipping, for that malarkey of the drone, since to be consecrated by

history the drone that severs light from life in keeping with the walnut train of thought in
walnut study, with gyratory whipping tails to all phenomena like the bath of silverfish of

suffering, the bile lectern at least strains Hippocratic become Hipocritical oathsome

generation, the love of a shank tug-of-war; to be the dingoes, not just dingoes.

4. TRANSPORT: Lord Mayor

SPIRITS VECTOR TO the roam gold rush, transliterated currency from then till now.

Today’s big rich supposed not yet near those surfacing children to that estuary’s yellow froth,

the gold rush to the curs and the tremble to their adulatory shanks all forgot,

to the grand tour of our waters when the close-to-pagan moot point abstinence gone from our

suffering, spittle in our cheeks from mud bespoken, the past tense like a nugget and mint in
one, aspiration turns yogic.