Samuel Carey


A city of the future.
The future of the city is told by the water. The city is
in the water. The water tells the future of the city.
The water moves in a circle. The circle moves
and releases the light. The light burns the streets.
The streets in the city burn in the light because they
are poisoned. The streets of the city are poisoned.
There is tincture turning in the future. The streets
from the light spread across the city.
The land is spread with streets from the light. The city is
moving in a circle. The circle gives out deep toned baritone.
The circle found what was lost. In the light, in the water.
The city is long gone. The city is now a tincture turning.
The city is in the future.


The sense of now that we knell for cross-headed,
cellular temperature ringing from radiator on firecan only be now only then. between station graves,
indifferent switches. between equalising reservoirs
& asymmetric cowls.

hate me like it’s your last chance to suck on
flower gap. & show me your breach powered nose.

long gone the days of gypsy marshes & your canopy
& drive-thru’s viewable by fly’s eye. nothing’s irreplaceable
in hive conscription on moon light’s pediment.


By Samuel Carey

currently lives in Auckland. He is a leading proponent of the Loser Occult. He never uses more 3.4 milligrams of soap per hand wash. He has been published in Minarets and Otoliths.