Thursday, 14 November 2013

the world ends tomorrow

in a moment of weakness
i break you down.
i don't care if you're
a slave to your juices
or the serpent's jacked
your mind or the
world ends tomorrow.
it is an 
irresponsible sky
that watches over
our dark acts.
i move too close
and your wall crumbles.

Wednesday, 13 November 2013

what the crow sees

entwined like fire
playing nightly
dancing lightly
on my head bone.

slap my face and 
tell me
what may well be
what the crow sees
with my eyeballs.

stolen from my
by the big stream
cant hear me scream
not my voicebox.

cant hold back this
sends me reeling
puke at the ceiling
i need some sleep.

Monday, 11 November 2013

on flow

cut me deep with carnal knowledge,
tear my wounds, old and new
to find the vein of ashes i contain.
spill them on this page.

channel whatever thunderbolt it takes
to have me shaking with the rapture,
dancing above my earthly bonds
and gravity as my nightgown drips
with the extend of my levitation.

take the particular difficulties i face,
spike their dismembered heads
then mount them around our perimeter.
make me a cautionary tale.

follow the trail and find me silent,
fill me with your tindersticks for kindling
then strike the match that sparks the rage
that takes on this whole damn catastrophe.

any muse would choose me but i want you 
with your wicked knowledge and gothic inclinations.
we have a smoldering love, a fire that tends
itself as i feed the wolves and howl for your attention.

i am braver than you think,
i am as weak as you leave me,
i am as putty,
i am yours, take me.

on flow

cut me deep with carnal knowledge,
tear my wounds, old and new
to find the vein of ashes i contain.
spill them on this page.

channel whatever thunderbolt it takes
to have me shaking with the rapture,
dancing above my earthly bonds
and gravity as my nightgown drips
with the extend of my levitation.

take the particular difficulties i face,
spike their dismembered heads
then mount them around the perimeter.
make me a cautionary tale.

any muse would choose me but 
i want you with your wicked knowledge 
and gothic inclinations. be continued.

Saturday, 9 November 2013


there are no words
to fully describe
fresh humans.
not soft, though softness
comes closer,
not angelic, though
cherubs float as
i hold you close.
not other worldly because
you are definitely earthy.

wrapped up in a bundle
as long as my foot,
bean like,
a seed.
chest to chest
breast to breast
we draw each other in,
plant ideas
make promises
watch them wriggle
and bat their eyelids
at the sun.

i see a road,
a way through 
the forest that may
have wild flowers,
deep shadows
and big red wolves
but as a fresh human
you know
we will make them our allies
and our inspiration.

will you have my hair?
my eyes?
my misconceptions
and pretendencies?
the clockworks are wound,
the teddy bears and rabbits
are ready sentinels
as you wish upon stars
and dive into life
surrounded by hearts 
that will always be yours
to draw on.

Friday, 8 November 2013

the night

tonight is an inconvenient moon
pushed aside by clouds and rain.

tonight is a night to be out if you
have to, but only if you have to.

tonight is a widow's walk.

tonight brings out forces of
instinct and survival and 
assessing the risks.
you must assess yourself
on nights like this to ensure
you are not lacking.

you navigate the night
with urgency and with purpose,
cocooned in the knowledge that
forward is the only direction.

the space around you is small
but the night,
the night 
is infinite.


in between thunderstorms
the steeples have
a chance to rest.

take a moment...

my breasts
too big to be contained
so you
take them
in your
cupping up the
base before you
paste on the plaster.
take a moment...

the plaster
wet chalk works the crevices
concealing from sight
but not from touch
dripping tickles
this isn't like
icing a 
take a moment...

lying prostrate
with the weight of white
a crater landscape
on my torso
my nipples spike
at the idea of posterity
plaster casts
more than the truth
lasts longer than a moment...

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

howl if you must

take me now,
while we're dancing.
tear the flesh
from my neck
with your talon teeth,
sink them deep
in my breast
for my sweet meats 
lie within.

show no sorrow.
scoff my entrails
with abandon and
plunge deep into
my carapace to
gorge upon my marrow
before the palsy happens.

wicked is this sin,
from canal urge to
cannibal, within
this body 
lies the secrets of
the visceral. i lay 
them at your table.

on insight

"an insight like the flight of birds:" sylvia plath - love is a parallax.

insight like a flight of birds,
like beauty, elusive.
the sounds are there, more palpable than words
insight like a flight of birds.
what chains must break, what piece of fate occurs?
breathe in the light, seek the air inventive
insight like a flight of birds,
like beauty, elusive.

Monday, 4 November 2013

be careful mary.

the jacarandas are back
and everything is 
blooming wonderful.

(be careful mary!)

the first purple flowers
signifying time passing
and continuity,
the survival
of the seasons.

(be careful mary!)

bluebells are like
seashells in the landscape
of childhood memories, 
you recall the games played
but not what happened earlier.

(be careful mary!)

stare, glare 
at the branches but 
chances are to be
seized or stolen and
no one's gunna
let you through easy.

(be careful mary!)

Sunday, 3 November 2013

on irony

the ecstasy
of irony,
nuanced in pain - 
fingernails on the skin
within the cerebral.

taking on
the impossible 
throws stones
then turns to
the vapour of the ghost.

glean what you can,
pick up on the
exquisite distances
in the crosshairs
note closely,
the ultimate irony
lies in death.

Friday, 1 November 2013


at the edge of the brave stage
the water's fine.
"come in" he said
by way of invitation,
waving his hand at normal.

"but the water,
it comes and goes..."
untroubled by the
fragility of nature
the others crowd around
the rock pool,
content to paddle.

always too far
they say,

the limits of elasticity.

moon crow delirious
coming up for air,
fighting survival
is not suicide
but another, darker place.

cracked land scares me
with its back breaking
potential, and even elastic
has its limits.

it is a landscape
of other stories
outside of my window
where joining in
is metered out
so as to avoid suspicion.

there are gaping holes
that require covering,
pending rationalisations
that grow teeth
over time.

in laying it all
at my feet
the ground becomes

Monday, 29 April 2013


he is the epicentre of the earthquake in my bed
timber stiff he shakes the base of our whole relationship
i wake in fright to the rocking of the naked marble man.

spitting vivid pictures over heartache covered floorboards
tilting over the edge of fuck knows, manipulating sorrow
he is the epicentre of the earthquake in my bed.

my own nightmares quieten, my vampires hover
and the judgmental dead snigger their noses into their hands,
i wake in fright to the rocking of the naked marble man.

in the dark we fuck hellishly to fight off black fantasies
but when the quiet comes and the devil jacks his brain
he is the epicentre of the earthquake in my bed.

only the shadows know and they're not telling
what satan's song it is that makes him dance this way,
i wake in fright to the rocking of the naked marble man.

the light switch breaks the spell but i'm still held
in his sweet and sour voice of the unattainable,
he is the epicentre of the earthquake in my bed
i wake in fright to the rocking of the naked marble man.

Sunday, 28 April 2013

fucking cat

fucking cat's
fucking hanging around from the
fucking neighbour's place
fucking giving me the
fucking hairy eyeball while i
fucking eat my
fucking tuna sandwich that i'm only
fucking eating because my 
fucking doctor told me 
fucking tuna fish was
fucking good for my
fucking brain chemistry & would
fucking smarten me up.
fucking cat's gunna
fucking get it when i 
fucking work out a
fucking punchline.


with trembling bones we dance lightly
while angels watch over the show
waving arms and shuffling slightly
with trembling bones we dance lightly
on our feet the mud hangs tightly
to those who hold the catwalk glow
with trembling bones we dance lightly
while angels watch over the show.

Saturday, 27 April 2013

the nature of ghosts

the back beats
of my depression
are the cello
and the knife...

         i'm having
         dagger in the back
         fantasies again

                                  it is the nature
                                  of ghosts
                                  to not remain


& other lazy gems

discovering my secret shame is a covert love of country music, the irony & sideways narrative, the subtlty & the pain.

walking into the thrift store it is not so much as first world citizen donates to charity & gets something for the priviledge as please take this burden off my back & nurse my wounds.

the rose garden will always be my santuary with its funeral demenour & prickly answers to sensitive questions.

ethnics sweep the mentals from the headlines because sickness in others is easier to face than the dis-ease within.

Thursday, 25 April 2013

that's fine

he wooed me with stories
of scoring in russell st.
took me through the
the eye movements
the under the tongue 
and jaw dropping 
told me he didn't need
a tourniquet
because his veins were strong.

he told me the thrill
and the fuck the world
it gave him.
that's fine,
everybody makes their choices.

he listened quietly
to my observations
then told me where
i was wrong.
that's fine,
everybody has an opinion.

clean now,
trying to find his
place in the world
with words,
lots of words.
that's fine,
connection is how the race 

Wednesday, 24 April 2013

courting fever

courting fever
like it may choose
another over me
he fulfills my wishes,
taking me to a
fetid dreamscape
where it is
dank tropical.
dark clouds fill
my periphery
as i float
on refraction,
glide through time,
deaf to everything but
the crackling intensities.
i am wracked
with unbidden explosions
as i fall into the
broiling cauldron.
begging for relief i
just cannot seem
to let you go

Tuesday, 23 April 2013


the doggies are doing well
but the cats are suffering.
there is no time
milk time
curdling on the brow
because you give me fever.
the feathers don't work
anymore moonshine?
i got nothing.

Monday, 22 April 2013


i'm jealous
and inspired
you'd want me to be.
you originally
scared me
taught me
took sexy to a new level,
you were not brave
like a pioneer
you were a raw roar
you were all raw.
you were art
and in my heart i knew
you were giving all
you had to offer.
you dressed for success
pouted loud enough
to be heard over all
the other boys in town.

rock warrior to the end,
shake on you crazy diamond.

chrissy amphlett. australian made tour, perth 1987

Sunday, 21 April 2013


because sometimes love
comes in strange costumes.

because sometimes love 
makes bad choices.

because sometimes love 
slips through your fingers
and over horizons.

because sometimes love
has you swimming in honey.

because sometimes love
only partly masters
the intricacies of
the human heart.

because sometimes love
smells like comfort,
and connection
and protection.

and sometimes, if you're lucky,
love finds a spark to start 
a happy ending.

Saturday, 20 April 2013

the pitch drop experiment

eighty six years
and counting
the drops.

like the fall
of an apostle
this mishap
is yet to be 


solidly fragile
looks like forever,
feels like inspiration
lying in the belly
of science.

so when
a solid drips
there is no alchemy,
no magic,
the only thing to change
are our perceptions.

Friday, 19 April 2013

only the good

it was a very poetic moment
when she raised the skillet
above her head,
bared her teeth
and swung balletic with
such momentum
he could swear this time
she would actually, finally
take flight.

it was a familiar dance
where he would read
a thousand nightmares
in her eyes while
she spewed profanities
and lashed out at the world
a screaming banshee.
in a theatre of war she
would have been a general.

the battle, he knew
was inside her head,
not for him to fight,
so as he retrieves her
tiny frame from the floor,
kisses her forehead,
tells her the war cry
he knew,
"only the good die young baby"
and hopes in his heart

that it isn't true.

Thursday, 18 April 2013

swallow the stars

turn a kiss into
something wicked,
make chemistry and desire
transpire to a time
of great flaming.

touch me roughly,
lock your fingers
to my flesh
in a way that is
frightening and 

forge the chains
and break them 
in a forgetting of
everything but lust.

take my breath away.

nothing can shake off
the dust but passion
will wash our mortality
to the bones. then 
when all is raw and sated
we swallow the stars
and start again.

Wednesday, 17 April 2013

dinosaur love

it's a dinosaur love
so we smash passion
and furniture
around the bedroom
and over the kitchen table,
presenting comfort
we fight for food
and eat for strength
to fight and fuck and find
the truth in our anatomy,
in our fragility.

it's a dominant love
where you are stronger
but i know what you want
and how to give it to you
as i wrap my tongue
around your lizard brain,
finding the primal
and triggering instincts
we are knotted 
to the seasons,
our shudders are like thunder,
the undergrowth crumbles.

and the elephants get jealous
of our dumb love
our doomed love,
waiting for the great extinction.

Tuesday, 16 April 2013

special electric and the survival of the species

the stillness required
to handle that special
electric pain that
comes from the chaos
of the universe
should be learned
in a buddhist monastery.
you master it not
all of the time
because sometimes
you need a reminder
or to sneeze.
and it may all be
pavlovian nonsense
but eventually,
because the species
must survive
you see the purpose
of the special electric
and the idea that you
are its master
and not its servant.

Monday, 15 April 2013


in stations
you may struggle to
find the right platform
but you will always have
a destination.

on buses
your destination s set
and you find it easier
to remain seated than
stand in the vagaries
of moving traffic.

on a bike
the power must be yours
or you find yourself
going nowhere.

in solitude
nothing's gunna stop you
and nowhere is sacred
in finding the way

i confess

i confess
sometimes i hold
the flame under
my cupped hand
a little too long,
but i've got to keep
the homefires burning 

i confess
sometimes i fall
a little too hard
down the mountain 
of you.

i confess
sometimes the first step
is one too hard 
to navigate.

i confess
sometimes i let the 
wrong voices sing 
my song.

i confess
to old habits,
new beginnings
and opening
to the moment.

Saturday, 13 April 2013

diamond dave

putting 2 & 2 together
i don't so much
come up with
a recipe for disaster
as an escape plan.

face your demons

it's late o'clock
mopokes pronounce
with infinite clarity
and the air is so still
it feels like
a catastrophe is coming.
it is.

there is travelling for
a purpose and travelling 
cos the devil's at your hind
and you've nearly made 
your mind up
but the street demons
that you summon turn
out mostly to be
first world guilt with
little combat experience.

you decide it's alright
to return to your
previous life,
suck it up in a way 
that ultimately avenges
with success and 
stockpiling the 

Thursday, 11 April 2013

dancing in damnation

beyond belief
is where you send me
into the flames
is where i wanna go
i've danced with the devil
and his will is strong boy
i'm dancing
i'm dancing
i'm dancing
i'm dancing in damnation.

it isn't fair 
and it isn't love
and it isn't blessed
by the lord above
so let's get carnal
let's get raw
we're dancing
we're dancing
we're dancing in damnation.

tomorrow isn't talking
and the past has had its say
we need a new religion
to keep the bad at bay
we're dancing
we're dancing
we're dancing in damnation.

it's like we're almost perfect
when we danced around this way.

Wednesday, 10 April 2013

coffee smells the blues

coffee smells the blues
while i teeter on the edge 
of the cup in an unsteady 
resemblance of the myths
we tell ourselves.

coffee smells the blues
while i apply lip gloss
and flirt with the impossible.

coffee smells the blues
while i contemplate wrangling
happiness as a way of
avoiding the opposite.

coffee smells the blues
while i remember your scent,
it's a more powerful hit
than from any fist.

coffee smells the blues
while i revel in the
everyday madnesses
that are still so comfortable.

coffee smells the blues
while i trust that the future
is strong enough to hold me.

Monday, 8 April 2013


i've taken to the punching bag lately,
advice from a friend, that may
or may not
have been a veiled insult.
he'd wanna watch out
after i've done 5 minutes,
then 10 minutes,
then 15 and 20
as advised,
after i've kept that up
for a number of months
just saying,
when my abs have tightened
and my biceps start to bulge
and i can pack a good punch,
he'd wanna watch out.

Sunday, 7 April 2013

channelling annie

i'm channelling annie get your gun
grab your peacock and your leathers
turn on a word for a place in the sun
sink into its orange pleasures.

grab your peacock and your leathers
the intro is over, the spotlight is ready
sink into its orange pleasures
strum a beat and make it heady.

the intro is over the spotlight is ready
strutting electric lights up the stage
strum up a beat and make it heady
time to plug in to the collective rage.

strutting electric lights up the stage
i'm channelling annie get your gun
time to plug into collective rage
turn on a word for a place in the sun.

detritus rising

i read a story once
about the culture 
under the carpet,
an undulating subcontinent
of unnamed life forms
and malevolent entities
waiting to take me down.

the life forms under 
this carpet are
spectral abominations
chained to the past 
with the ivy that
haunts my nightmares.
i blanket them with
the detritus of my life.

the thing is unlike
the story, where
everything is wet
and festy, my ghosts
are dry, crumbly relics,
they crackle underfoot
like a skeleton of a
dead leaf, or of some 
small creature.

and maybe it isn't  
covering but an uncovering
that is needed,
as i look around and 
contemplate cleaning
the detritus rising,
at opening the cave
to fresher entities
like sunlight and
folk dancing. and
vacuum cleaners.

Friday, 5 April 2013


it's good,
the boundary push
of working to the form.
saddle up monkey mind and run
the lines.

Thursday, 4 April 2013

this kind of chaos

the manic ant creatures
are dancing to bowie
even though they don't know it.

the clouds are dancing too,
but faster, on parade.
i know they're going further
than i have permission to ride.

the possibility of dancing
strikes me as funny, until
bowie hits my hips
and outside, in the sunshine
is the only place in the world.
and dancing, with abandon
can answer many questions.

it is just this kind of chaos
that draws the endorphins,
a relief full of irregular beats
and right now i'm a puppet to life,
and bowie, and dancing.

Wednesday, 3 April 2013

while you were sleeping

while you were sleeping
i tried to go about my day,
tried to separate myself
from the miraculous 
wound around space
and over time
that connects you
to me.

while you were sleeping
i went to work to earn
my dancing shoe money.

while you were sleeping
i cursed time and space
and hemispheres and gravity
and everything that separates
from me.

while you were sleeping
i tried not to think of
happily ever after
and horses in the hamptons
or the adirondacks.

... but really
i want to flawlessly step
into the fairytale,
i dream of a seamless
transition from cinderella's 
stepsister to being the beat
of your prince charming heart.
with a sense that isn't literal
i dream of flying through 
hemispheres and 
surfing mountains,
i want to grab hope
by the gonads,
demand a pay off 
for my endless devotion.

while you were sleeping.

these boots are made for kicking arse.

opening my attitude in
the opportunity shop
they fleeced me for a tenner, 
for the leather, but not fine leather,
and just my kinda high.

i wear them to kick arse places
where they keep my cool
and know just when to release
from the sticky carpet.
they know how to keep the beat
from sad tunes by seedy songwriters
to screaming jesus & his vomit clan posse.
they form a posture that holds
me rock steady in the steamiest 
of situations.

stomping makes them smarter,
they remember who, what, where, 
always ready to defend injustices,
they are more than a metaphor
with the soul of the boxing glove.

Monday, 1 April 2013


this story is starving,
hungry for words 
to fill in the details.

     the thunder in my head...

skeletal anorexic
running on treadmills,
shedding axioms and idioms

     when you say yes...

that only feed the voracious 
need of cryptic words and
and corpulent images.

     and take my hand...

shedding axioms and idioms
running on treadmills,
skeletal anorexic

     dumps its rain into my underwear.

to fill in the details
hungry for words
this story is starving.