My lovely land exhales long sighs         & I’m ashamed to say she’s mine.         So I sit scheming on the edge:         this doesn’t mean my old intents         are crapping plastic good as dead;         it’s just the place my heart & head         have relocated to prevent         reduction of my rhymes to crimes         the nervousness of jerking eyes         pretending not to recognize         that mass invasions wrapped in lies         repeat the days Australia died.               My lovely land.               It’s bought. It’s canned.               The borrowed flag               of moral crap               & failure flies               its poor weak stars               as bleak as lies.               I couldn’t save her               only leave her               so sorry mad               the way I see her               wrapped in deference               to blank badness               no world can deny.               It bakes me dry:               I ache & cry               to see my land,               which once loved man,               to see Australia die.