eight

if ever i dreamed
of a bleak city
this is it.

nameless buildings
and strip malls
with too many signs.

the trees are
closing shop for winter
shadows of their
former selves.

sticks and stoned don't
break my bones but
the cold takes
my breath away.

seven

they have closed the coffee shop
whe you committed suicide,
drinking cup after cup after cup
of coffee too strong for
your heart to handle.

i walk past, trying to remember
the good times, the sane times.
i flick my eyes to the skies
because i don't know where else
to look for you.

time does help but cannot hold
my heart the way that you did,
like a badge on your chest.
i still take my coffee strong
as a lesson from the dead.

six

we stay until
our shadows grow
so long
they are almost
out of reach.

you linger,
touch my hand
and say
"there is just
one thing more..."

sound turns hollow
and crickets weep,
but our glory
will live in
the small arrangements.

five

i take my safety for granted,
like i'm a man
or something
tall.
i rationalise it as
calculated risk,
but really
i'm just playing craps
with the fates

janine balding
sally roethe
le ngoc le

walking with a
confidence that
i only have
sometimes
their stories roll
through my head

mary freeman
teah rose
simone fraser

i brace,
form a fist
with my keys

caroline willis
gail winner
ros thompson

because society
ain't gunna
fix this

maria korp
katrina and cynthia miles
jill meagher

but i still hold
my head high

caroline matthews
margaret tobin
rebecca wilde

and keep walking.

four

looking to the hills
we discuss the value
of nature, then
decide to go there.
breathing deeply,
hoping this
moment
is strong enough
to hold us
we fold into
the undergrowth.
with blindfolds on
we can quench
our other senses,
while in between
thunderclaps
my heart has time
to skip a beat.
there is no fruit
left uneaten
until the
pixies sing a
love song that
goes too long
and we know
it is time to get out.

three

dark alley daytime
where deep humans
take refuge from a
world too shallow
to comprehend.
the light doesn't
shine here.
nothing shows
or grows or is
nurtured in
this underbelly,
but comfort can
still be found.

two

we find our happy place
park benching with coffee,
and although i don't expect it
we both start crying.
it's not so much the
words we say
as the deep sense of
hopeful ennui
we both share. 
we feel intrepid,
and although the heart
that you give me is
cracked and bloody
it is whole.

one

like something
left out of
a documentary
i hit the road.
shale shines like
second hand silver
beneath my feet
& with the wind
at my back
there's nothing
but black tar madness
showing me the way.

it's a dusty shuffle,
sometimes clinging
to the earth
for fear that gravity
and memory
will fling me to realms
too sacred for
a waif like me.
birds that are
nameless
call my name,
call me home.