Debris – NEAT14 Final Draft

28 May


Only a few days until our LoewenMouthy show (please come)! And here is what I will be performing 🙂



We don’t have a government, we have Starbucks.

Lets stray to the docks. What ifthe roads get closed?

Laugh until our ears burn, rum will soften the blisters.

We work too many hours to sleep sober. Dream tanks,

wake in jolts of sweat. Forget. Unite in each other’s saliva.

Squeeze soft when the lights dance off. Sorry


I’ve drowned too much. Downed, sorry.

When I saw you stood, stronger than Starbucks,

on that army truck’s hood; face pomegranate pink, sparkling saliva,
wailing Golden Brown into the windscreen. Activism felt closer.

That’s why I jumped up alongside you, my voice-tank

chugging the chorus on repeat. We stood till our pride blistered


realising the officers were asleep. My memories blistering

apprehending that week. Trampled. Herot. The sorry

faces of strangers and cars. I found my mum under the wheel of a tractor,

mud softly gasping at her neck, light ripping rubber and red. A disposable Starbucks

cup the only thing left full. She knew to be careful – stay close.

I didn’t know it would be me with gun barrel to her ear. Saliva


frothing at her fear as the tank ached towards us. Saliva

and blood. Gelatinous black blistering

blood, like I’d ripped a silent baby from her closed

body. The last thing I outlined from her face was sorry.

You know, after 6 drinks; tea, taurine, Starbucks…

your body interprets the caffeine as anxiety. That cup: a vehicle



of work and oblivion. Then, I’m told –Go! Rapid, solid, far. Wagon

my car to the border.Pack what Mum would’ve wantedkiss her chalked saliva

from my hand… No!I kicked my rucksack out the sunroof and ran home, to Starbucks,

one name in a list where tourists shouldn’t go. My Mum worked nails to blisters,

then stayed up to teach me English.She said, English solves everything but… sorry.

I’ve been trying to believe like Mum did but I can’t find the seams where life opens and work closes.


Instead I’ve got bottles and lids. I can’t stomach the Rolexes and road closures.

I need the alkali of mouth. You stood, open-bodied, on that army truck

and threatened those officers’ dreams with something more accurate than a sorry

list of names read out as News. Some names sound too familiar. So we choose a new language? No! I choose to salivate

in song like you did; pick up my memories and dreams like bombs: assess what’s wrong or holy. Blister

bright and write instead of run, cause if we do? What’s left; the poor, the corrupt, the immaculately suited trucks? Starbucks!


Starbucks, at it’s best was valued at $74.23 Billion. Statistics blister declarations. Death tolls surpass imaginations.

But my Mums saliva is still white as God on my hands. Your words a tractor to this land – let’s not go anywhere.

Sorry, we may not have a government, but we have a dance of stories sparkling close and strong.



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