before we can spec the ground floor studio
the verdict’s been posted by the tween
the view from arthur's point
ain’t worth a million bucks
if you can't catch wifi
for a single insta
in the vale
brutalist realty
for century 21
queenstown was built on a coin toss and luck
an arrowtip of gold gilding the western shore
today rimmmed with resorts and fine outlooks
while across the lake a newer savvy tills the bank
we drive through with our private permit
to view the animals on deer park heights
at the pig pen there's a chance
to buy a tin of feed for two dollars
it's a canny business model i muse
(as eager porcine pitter patter to our feet
in hopes of sheep nuts to eat)
offloading your business cost to tourists
pitstopping on hobbit film location trips
we wind further up where cynical motes recede
herds of deer and juvenile males gaze calmly
confident that the naughty goats
with their reputation for kicking the tires
will test our mettle at the topmost pass
returning downhil past bison stag and alpaca
it's scenic and romantic till the exit gantry
draws attention to transaction costs
are all the livestock we've met liable to be ate
some says our guide kath matter of fact
i suffer a momentary sentimental pang
but confess it's gone by breakfast
when i reach in the fridge
for the ham
on routeburn
we meet two nice guys
one before one after
bridal veil falls
brian's been bonding with the universe
telling him to ditch construction
pick up a different brush
represent mount hikurangi
in water and acryllic
he heeds what quiet birds tell
don't ford the river
rain can build
to a point of no return
south island robin puffs up his breast of beige
hopping to greet us as the skies clear
like all his breed
a curious and friendly tom
putting no distance
between us and song
we heed what his lyric signs
while rain lets
retrace our way in double time
imagine the disquiet
when this peace is rent
by guttural shouts
urgent like death rattles
rushing to help
only to find
they were made by
three giggling louts
sometimes it seems
there are only two divergent universes
the one where she can do no right
inhabited by thetans their engrams
and hubbubs over hubbard
the one where she can do no wrong
with tales of madmen
handmaids and shining girls
at the head of lake wakatipu
overcast and clouded
it's nevertheless clear
which one we inhabit
weeks later now
long since returned to humdrum
it still befuddles how
amidst assorted consternations
one apparently manages
a fine night’s sleep
opening the day’s news
i suppose i shouldn’t be surprised
at the persistence of apathy
back in rome
after that tuscan week
we also needed three
on three successive nights
to say goodbye
fully
upstairs of michelangelo‘s david
only an unnamed painter
dismissed as mediocre
(described barely by association
with influencers Agnolo Gaddi and Lorenzo Monaco
themselves hardly tik tok stars in this academy)
empathises with the needy, the orphans and widows
depicts st yves advocate of the poor
ignoring the fawning rich on his left
dispensing small rights to the under side
antipodal 2011 