Poems by Gig Ryan

Gig Ryan. Photo by Mark Ray.

Another all-night slugs through their scammed oeuvre
that critics nimbled in a water-taxi
but thanks for the extirpation I sift into my panniers
and ride the new estate’s jellied hills
meanwhile advertising
Brokered trees mush fields
and a blind’s fronds of green twilight
raft over the bed and baffled cat piloting a thesis on itself
Revolving doors tie behind you in a sash
Put the garden in a drawer that sniffed memory’s mopped obeisance,
now a few rooms testify
and his hands krill the glassy pool



Stuck in Traffic
She meant it was good to yarn, no trauma
Now you get how you mistook
swotted totally at the braked drinks and slipped physics, you’re over
She’s bumping in for the show and doesn’t deign to risk
a charge or block, and her child “suffers absence”

Four churches sharpen the intersection
You know what? I cancelled, it wasn’t cogito precisely
but who could’ve, like I put it out there
my sessions and criteria all one-on-one a tray

across a bridge’s attempt at grace
while ads strew the transport’s view
into meshed ideograms of capitalism
I jibbed into a cube, shonky life blinking through a glass, a pick,
then hoiked what’s left of friends.
It’s of no purpose.
I don’t want to see him a radish or leek.
Chimes pester down what boredom spored
and goes, a meddler to the heath
You buy the lock for the door then the door for the lock

as cords corolla sealed ears that hyphen thought
to home in the electric fields



These poems previously appeared in New and Selected Poems published by Giramondo, Sydney, 2011.