you need to listen
up here, trapped fast in a two-minute frame
we take turns telling truth tales
to the tyrants
on this sacred whadjuk boodjar
never ceded
we spit sonic bits
of poems on stages
and we rhyme from ridiculous cages
and you breathe them in like a structured simile
all our untamed industrial assonance
are a means of resistance – a metaphor for no war
writ red across the opera house
all our complaints, echoes inside social platforms
spell-checked and spoken we sing songs of genocide
from the river to the sea
from banksia hill to the gnamma holes
we write words in the wet suburban streets
bold statements in the brutal black bitumen sun
and you need to listen
as the coldest hearts still beat
and we dropped banners from capital balconies
glued ourselves to the uniforms
we swore at the smiling suited hardhats
the cameras, the complex marvel of democracy mince
the cutting of the bloated ribbon
under lights, on a hot mic
and the shiniest silver shovel breaks soil
you need to listen
i am a sternly framed letter to the government
you need to listen
a fucked up poem to the minister
you need to listen
i am the wayward butler bullet grazing your tin ear
on a perfect pennsylvania day
your stainless lobes too small a target
you need to listen
and they die in the thousands
it rains sharp hot metal
amputates and slices
as the world stares, arms folded, fixed glare
they watch in drones above the desert
and lest we forgot – again
to listen – you need to listen
you need to stop – stop stop stop…
you need to listen
stopping war is easy
you just need to listen
shhh