To go around there is perhaps enough,but once again he has appropriated allthe sleep and now the wind sustainsyour insomnia like the jammed rightpedal of a haunted psychotic keyboard,moaning and wretched and frighteningas it smashes, slashes and gnashesagainst the windward end of the house. You are straining to catch its meaningand it begins to sound…
uproarious pueblo browns and Turkic Qaraqalpaq golds make your irises rampageously gorgeous: your Tongan pa’anga eyes have an unresectable kind of beauty. you are an illuming tone. you look good (my eyes and mouth water) like everything i’ve ever wanted; i sit in the tonneau with you thinking, please say you’ll stay. you’re more precious…
I saw this and thought of—let me know if you need—you must be bombarded with—there’s no pressure to—sending you so much—I’ve been thinking a lot about—actually this reminded me of you and your—you are one of the strongest people I—I am so proud of—he would be so proud of—are you—just bring—please text me when you…
I will stop reading love poetry. I will stop writing love poetry. I will stop having feelings like love and desire for poetry. I will have feelings like I belong in every home in America and if you push me out of a tall building I will kill everyone in my path. I will become hard, and cold. And sleek. Very sleek. Clean…
Now, your job is to turn the scary things sillyIt is exhausting and vaguely patronising Do you know how hard it is to chit chat at a social event while picturing smashing the bowl of your wine glass and driving the sharp stem into your throat? What have I been reading? Oh, nothing highbrow And…
#noragrets flying high # i say put it in my obituary # say thati sold my soul # but never to the devil # i killedmyself and i killed her # i killed my dreams andthey killed me # tell them i blew all the cash on #wishes spending time throwing up # throwing it…
A day of westerly gales,fallen branches, leafage, willy-williesclattering the car’s panels with grit.White wavelets to the left of the causeway.You in the passenger seat, sewing labelson two improv art quilts, the finishing touch.North of Bodalla, two trees down,closing a lane, ours the one moving;a big man in fluoro gear trotting to assess,his ute flashing yellow…
I drop in, she hugs me, offersfive kinds of tea, finds biscuits.Up close, her neck is a country mileof sundrenched hills and valleys.She is solidly fit, walksto the Four Square. He: beer-keg belly,ruined back. She shows me a poemshe wrote for him on one of their tripsto the beach. They’ve been a couplesince high school.…
The town over sells fresh honey and chutney.We must have lost the arms race, as our farmers’ market isnow filled only with familiar faces. The prices are fixed, like vice grips onto framed timber.Bartering is punishable by death. I have died a thousand times and, like Christ,walked past the rolled stones,nails in my soft hands.…
The Dogs When I think of the dogs I think of the clatter of biscuits in tin bowls,of chain on corrugated iron. Working dogs live outside and incidentally outside is what you say when you want them to leave. You saygettawayback you saywayleggoyou say come by, come by. Speak up. Once when I was four you had…