At this point I cannot help but imagine your head skewered on the garden fence.

All flattery aside I find you a bloated vile politician, manipulating the children, giving flowers to my wife. Shame! I ought to thread the stem through all the holes in your skull. Men tearing down a bridge with negative compassion. Euthanased buildings and that guy running from a burning truck. The hollow of your eyes like divers floating bodies of plane wreck victims still strapped in seats. Cat fights across thatched roofs late at night.

I disagree with your policies. My little sister in a cage somewhere in the Australian desert went crazy and chewed off the fingers from her left hand. All of this while on the tram I see women reading magazines about actress’s bathing their dogs in evian.

Sir, where does one turn? This system is broken up against the wall like a chair in a bar fight, irreparable. All the horoscopes in this mornings paper foretell misery. You probably won’t get your pay check. The boss will be inflexible.

There are crows chasing swans across old parliament lawn this morning, mist from the river pixelating the edges.