products of mexico

been trying to write for days

and now pushing towards the border

to escape serenity,

a mind turning to cheese

heading north

a backseat full of notes

written down-south,

my products of Mexico

that came in the Byron Bay nights so dark

I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face,

let alone write

a body depleted

of 24-hour white-light Brisbane

the never-ending glow of the city

that completes my usual ingredients for sleep

and language of black-rain thoughts

crossing the boundaries

smuggling ideas solid and fatal

as flying bricks

as my mind tried to reason

the heights of Bundjalung dreaming

the night creatures’ endless songs,

praise and condemnation

of attempted human magic,

dialects so foreign to my own native ears

white matter foam

picked off the brain,

in which I carved my products of Mexico

making a mad dash for the border