Thursday, 25 October 2012


The birds flutter between brick and tress
I’m all palms for their disinterest –

I know the birds, I don’t know the Name
I bend the brick dangerously in influence
But they’re there and I’m here, so nearby

The dappled beams they register not
I’m so close to blindness and enough
Of wanting to seek, reach, handle
Their security, they all call
But not for me
But I never stand
To address

Their borders stronger than mine

Thursday, 11 October 2012


You tease me about poems and paranoia,
unaware that we are always on guard
with our favourite toys, prepared
to reach the thatched ladder
over the black hole.
The one we are certain
we did not dig.

When you can be fat and happy
hunched over machinery sans guilt,
then you are one rich man falling.

Gift-giving makes such a man nervous
and she has included you childlike
in her great big-hearted basket.

The polishing of pride,
and the lending of contentment
are all swallowed by her good intentions
saved for unity and motherhood.

She kick-starts the leather and merry-go-round
without knowing what she has spun.

Saturday, 8 September 2012


don’t be disappointed
by the lady’s inevitability
no point is ever unseen

they’re all so airy thin
but you want to offer
a business card, limb
just in case of grace

they’ll curl-up to sleep
with their dresses attached
for drinks under the doona

Sunday, 19 August 2012


Spotted Charity dwells on low
Not keeping time, unaware
Of five-finger discounts

She is bound by blindness
And feels joy and fatigue
At $20 given to a definite junkie

She dwells where Beauty seldom does
But when together, there is a riot
Of peace and cameos
Aureoles vacant

Monday, 13 August 2012


She said, “you just
needed an angel.”

I needed several,
of the arterial kind,
in most probable

But then,
of course,
one I had.

As ever,

Saturday, 4 August 2012


My father taught me this:
the unknowing of beings
from historical perspectives
and how to return volumes

A monumental silence at unit
where disallowances scream
from the soil of male-sweat
that pollutes the air and beds

Leaving us just this:
the apish calm of father
and the son

No rest

Friday, 27 July 2012


like lying down knowing
that you’ll have to rise
for some trivial task

as a backsliding heifer
twitches in mud-soaked joy
the world still turns

Friday, 6 July 2012


I think I’m losing a day here
The furniture is no longer shifting
There’s no girl to fill the room so completely
The dust on the windowsill are not particles
For spasms of the sun to crown perceptions

But the non-historical texts are cracked
Split bricks, not for knowledge
But aphesis

When you’re balancing on the spines
You long for the sun o'er
Even so the yellow moon
Is way too bright

Saturday, 30 June 2012


O body, leave me cold and dry
the light in the puddle
is not the moon

Else the cold warmth tried
of an old man’s face, askance
in the knowing

Thursday, 28 June 2012


I seize for the victories
and the tic tac spoils
of these blank line blues,
ranked inconsiderately.

Ready for a strong arm
with the gnashing of arteries,
or exiting to receive the weak one
in what was once called contemplation.

Ending what neither of us have not.

Saturday, 16 June 2012


You cannot walk
Your head hits your chest
You’re not asleep

No guilt of pill
No directive call
But there’s this light
That’s breaking through

The sky your head
Your head the sky
And you know you’re not asleep

Your flesh left aside
But it’s still out there
And you know you’re not awake

You feel the salt
That’s in the breeze
And the waves you hear
Curling through this light
As a mirrored cup drinking-up
All that light sets between

And you’re not asleep
And you’re not awake
And it culminates amid

Wednesday, 23 May 2012


It was you entirely.
You who taught
the singular mansion
of love, to me: your child,
your boy who nervously
sat still in a sea of convention.

Your Basilica beads were not
for Mary’s crushed child alone.
There was a foetus in that womb,
as you glanced at the Immaculate.

His breathless marble pin-ribs lanced
our muting love in teary-rued cheeks
for what should’ve been high horns.

O mother of earthly care,
how will I heal the doctor
that heals with a heart?

How will I assure the poor
and the rich alike for all
your general and licensed

Saturday, 19 May 2012


Jeremiah was chaffing on
about wheat and how
God got him drunk again

I had sipped cheap blood
I had cuffed my hands
for the first time since figurines

I broke for Him
I ached for Him

I rested my eyes
on a woman’s conduct
that was between business
and causality, coitus longitude

I broke for Him
I ached for her
I ached for Him

Saturday, 12 May 2012


I knew it was new
as it peaked my cheek
and the pigeons did cuddle
in warmth and love

my cheap St. Francis medallion
hung aloft in ever-welcome falsity
that gave me an edge to commodity