Platinum Wig

                 For Avicii

   I wish I had the confidence of Lureen Twist
       peroxide and cigarettes fresh manicure—
   she gives the world  a stoic go fuck yourself
   through a blow of Marlboro red    bathes naked in
   whiskey springs that burn through wild rag doll limbs
   4AM at another dive bar she’ll never stop
   driving
       If I was Lureen Twist and
       wore a platinum wig
       maybe I’d be famous  in
       the rodeo  stands     or along the
       streets of Adelaide  where instead of
   dreaming
       with shadows for friends   I’d be
       surrounded by warm bodies so sharp
       as a shot of tequila stabbing common sense
   Do you know I’ve always liked that song ‘Levels’
   by Avicii   because it sounds like joy or—
   a roller-coaster    but then I read Avicii
   means hell in Buddhism and remember that the DJ
       with the platinum hair left his soul behind
       for the morning star praying for safe arrival
       I don’t know why he killed himself—because he had
       everything—a Netflix documentary said he never lived
       to his potential that the weight of the world killed him
       that youth would forever pay the price
       Life's a game made for everyone and death is the prize
            If you can’t fix it—you gotta stand it someone said
              Lureen hides her sadness
              under a platinum wig and old farm  money
              and the portable TV at dinnertime
       And I leave mine on the morning tram    alongside
       my ego disintegrated   after another
       poignant rejection if my words will never be important
       or as
              forgettable  as  the Kaua’i O’o bird’s last song
            I will put on the platinum wig    sexy crash helmet
            and wait to be swept away  with city debris
            As Lureen standing in the phone booth   voice
              sweet as cherry pie poker face frozen with grief or God’s indifference
            to Avicii’s final prayer
            she teases her hair and gets on with it    the great pretender in alligator boots
              who hides behind the mane of secrets
              of bleach  and  telemarketer  bravado


♪♫ ♫♬ ♪♫ ♪♫ ♪♪♫ ♪♫♬ ♪♫♪


Olivia De Zilva is a writer based in Kaurna Yerta (Adelaide). Her novel Plastic Budgie was released in July 2025 by Pink Shorts Press. Her novella Eggshell was released by Spineless Wonders in November 2025. Her poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in The Guardian, SBS, Australian Poetry Journal, Mascara Literary Review and many other publications. Olivia's writing has been shortlisted by the Richell Prize, The Kat Muscat Fellowship, The Deborah Cass award and recently, was the inaugural winner of the AAWP Novella Prize.
 
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