encore

our late night friend

           our god of collarbones

                        archduke of sunglasses

                                           & lead guitar

        who art owed                         a motherfucking heaven

                              here is a casket

so hallowed be                        the music stand            

the wind in                                    the grass playing riffs                 

the way we’d shred them                       ring a rosie            

flies rising                on the realm to come                               thy kingdom is

flax where they lay             your cap & jandals with your    porn-flick shades

your will is rope handles &        double bass      & six feet of clay                   

where they lower your memory undone      in sun    that’s beating like a pub 

packed up at midnight                  staggering punters       who made us angels

on weed & whenua              & gravel as it is                 on the bulldozed peace 

to your plot      where even the leaves     can’t get decent lonely blues 

& bees divebomb                 our wet jaws            as we gather

in the smell of your eulogy             on rolling earth & wasted           birdsong

oh fuck this abundance                         give us back

shit gigs in the smoke                     on secondhand          glamrock anthems

& forgive us our raggedy             vocal chords             as we forgive the

crowd that spills                                      drinks on the amps

& sing                 their lagered hearts                            against us

for thine is                     the half-cocked solo           

thine is the mic’d up bandwidth

of pour-some-sugar sex               stroking the metal thirst from   six feet of frets

the last drunk             grinding on the dancefloor                  proud mary

give me back                      I wish I was special               

& that wall-of-noise glory  

I won’t do what you tell me in                   

smudged kohl & op shop ties & unstrung     

docs                        let’s roof-jump the 3AM carpark                        clubfooted forever

               & encore

                             & deathless ever

                                                      because here is your casket

                                                                 my friend

                                                        my sweet stoned duet 

                                                             my songbook stunt-double

                                           so fuck amen

   aria

when we dropped

      you in

             your lime

         washed flat-pack bed

to travel 

      the dirt on ropes

     the hole was

a steep black oblong

            quote

       you never finished

a six-foot clay throat

        of questions

               & even the sun

        got vertigo

                     staring down

                                at the cemetery 

                                         keyboard

                          & clung to the spines

        of the last hymn 

              that trembled

                          our umbrellas

             on the half-alive 

                         ledge

of white grass

    & bright sweat

              & fencewire

    tightening 

 the celcius of death

my friend 

we were wind

instruments

  & trickled 

like all things

 tuneless

into

              the duct

Tracey Slaughter

Tracey Slaughter is the author of Conventional Weapons (VUP, 2019) and deleted scenes for lovers (VUP, 2016). Her novella if there is no shelter is due for publication by Ad Hoc Fiction in the UK later this year. She teaches Creative Writing at the University of Waikato, where she edits the journals Poetry New Zealand and Mayhem.