10.45 p.m.

DEFINITION

shoobs/shobeen/shubz/shobin
synonyms:
faaji, groove, bashment, house party, owambe
An institution for flight
not to be confused with an airport.
The oldest community project.

Think of it as a global summit or a conference on tax
[avoidance].
A swap-meet for delusions.

10:46 p.m.

DEFINITION

shoobs/shobeen/shubz/shobin
synonyms:
country, homeland, nation, state

How does a country form? I play a song.
And you say: oh shit this is my choon. Another says:
ayy! rah! what you know about this! We sing,
half-making up the lyrics. Someone with
a pen behind their ear asks for paper.
A receipt is offered, the white space
is written on; a name and so a birth.
We, labour-room teary, spark lighters in
the air. Right hand over left breast. We sing.
National Anthem, our president says.
We sing to the flicks of her wrists.
Someone rips the curtains from the window,
shouts FLAG! We turn to it, salute and sing
a serenade to this baby country.

10.47 p.m.

DEFINITION
shoobs/shobeen/shubz/shobin
synonyms:
dimensions, escape, weightless

the ting popped off last night
the DJ spun a tornado into the dance
& when we were in the eye of the music
the hand of God shook the room like a snow globe
& fifty-pound notes rained on us

10.50 p.m.

Jevon Catches the Fever

don’t call me           by my government name       not when I look this good
crime-scene stunning          commanding        your gaze       tonight
don’t call me          what began          as a dreamwhisper          a name          flung
across the room          heard only by          my mother          in the eye          of childbirth
call me          that guy the sponsor          moshpit organiser          conductor
of the shoobs     leng man          the skeng man          drippy drip lord
call me longgggg               distance stulla          silence eater          omo ologo
mister rise it whateva the price is          don gorgon          the champagne campaign of it all

call me by the name          my exes gave to me          in love          and in turmoil
silver                chandelier          Mercutio          swinging          the pendulum of my wave
tonight I’ll be          tsunami       there is an aqueous ancestor          somewhere in my blood
call me          Bermuda Triangle       True North              magma under ocean floor

I could take          your woman          I’m sorry I really could
but I am much too in love          with myself          tonight
I am the Fever             there is a tempest             under my feet

11.00 p.m.

Pass the Aux

Rank your bad days
in order of blackened hearts,
the worst a shuddering spectacle.
I know they expected you to die
at the bottom of the rock,
friendless and doom-sick.
It’s late June the month has been greedy,
fat off your misery.

In your twenties, nothing can kill you
the caption of your Insta story.
Six man gully-posing,
internet faces on,
heads hanging out the window
like a dog’s tongue,
picture screaming horses:
bullet speed,
tantrum wind.

11.03 p.m.

We Invented the Red Carpet

Butterflies on the scent of a syrup banquet,

we arrive.
Amina Muaddi heels and B22s,

groundwaters breaching the night,
scattered beads on a bridal train.
Reader—
don’t you like us like this?

Very much undead
dragged through the gut
of the day         ambergris

yet we smell delightful

entering this secret city of flair.
This front door, portal.