four poems by


Siân Vate





was edward snowden


a limited hangout

         it’s weird how he still says

he’d work for intelligence if they’d have him

                     though that could be an adaptive strategy / was

serial a limited hangout

      for dishing details on cell tower data capture

& to prep the ground for the tsarnaevs / i mean

                     who can be bothered with all grey spots & details

after that gaslighting multi-wafered podcast plot





girls love


astrology irl & online

the cards bring us back

to our senses / actually

it’s not just girls / it’s

millennials & mums

& gays with pets





dark angels


   behind each server: some machine

behind each hacker:

      cup of tea

that’s hard to taste. that

can get heartbreaking in its

anonymity. are you exhausted

by other people’s privacy / angels

weeping by the cake table:

      jersey funeral poker game

outside florida apartment block windows:

      cute & bloodless stellar air

that i love but that’s

breathing down my laminex back

& jamming up the extreme & small

electronic lines there / we

make strong lines only

   when we’re out on strike / when

harsh lines turn into info explosions &

the snapped-frozen streets in the city under

the aqua-still 2011 moon / as though

the whole purpose of occupying

without industrial demands

      was just to test

            the salt in the air 

then get rushed by the traffic again 

i mean the constabulary’s batons again

   in my tram: one thousand texts

at early trades hall meetings: assange

asking not to be filmed / in belmarsh

under bright lights: assange being

filmed / filing not to be killed

   the internet’s

a feeder for opps & sand is running

monument-style / all of the

time into the gaps / desert floor

   you can

crack an occupied country

wide open & observe it

   weep tea for its history

the sand smooths down

its pop screams into

beautiful & concentric circles

   orange paper towels are clogging the drain

in our hands: the desire that i’m

being gifted & that’s

being gifted back to you

   through my fingertips &

reddit-army tab: blades / enemies / canny

connective tissue

   leaning onto hearts with elbows

breathing into my special screening

waking-up machine





negative miracle

         thanks to mark fisher


do you ever

think about the way

stars are moving further away

& warring with the hyper-progressive

dimensional public properties

of goofy capital dreams


universe-as-poem / as in

exploding & also pointing to

nothing much more than itself but

stitching up dreams with colours / myth

angles & new memories









Siân Vate is a poet in Melbourne, occupied Kulin Nations country.  She has published the chapbooks end motion / manifest (bulky news press) and feels right (Slow Loris).



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