To say that I didn’t choose to live here is a lie:
I travelled knowingly, knowing of the consequence
of every step. And maybe I am lost, and alone, but
not without intuitive warning. This is my estate, red
as drops that trail along Sunday morning footpaths,
with no memory of injuries, only stains leading
to barren territories of waste for the wasted, the winds
full-dusted as karmic returns, to remind me of
the mindlessness of a previous evening, clouded
with rage and the fell of youth and nowhere to rest.
Remember how there was woman here? Her
photograph was posted on the internet: yes, indeed,
she was a mirage. And the face, that you saw, emerging
from the surface, cited as proof of alien civilization –
shadows on a landscape that perpetuates delusions.
A poet asked how the weather is: he does not truly want
to know – but to answer, it’s as cold as revenge, itself.
Probing craft from Earth try and look for life, here. And I hear
serious talk of colonization, as if this is where souls must fly to
and conquer. Okay, upon arrival, I’ll listen to every
confident, rogue ranging of their plans – confessions, each
case noble in also being spirited. A splendid party for all.
I, playing judge-penitent, rupturing their world with mine,
shall pass out sardonic balloons among those who’ve come
and remain on this planet until the last one bursts.
Ben Hession is a Wollongong based writer. His poetry has been published by Eureka Street, the International Chinese Language Forum, the Cordite Poetry Review, Verity La, The Mascara Literary Review and Bluepepper, as well as the Live Poets anthology Can I Tell You A Secret? Ben’s poem, A Song of Numbers, was shortlisted for the 2013 Australian Poetry Science award. Ben has begun reviewing poetry and is also a music journalist. He involved with community broadcasting.