it's not late [2004]

‘…neither I nor the glittering road can tell if you are still breathing there

gap teeth, bucket seat…fast toward home

I hum softly in warning to not initiate conversation

in a parallel universe we have met long before now -

pulling into gas stations, filling the tank and just driving

out along these endless streets that move simultaneously toward and away from the epicentre

blurring through the city maze of deserted corners

and the lives being lived behind curtains that turn their backs to us

[it’s not late] [it’s not late]

I have to work tomorrow but [it’s not too late for this]

I feel the brake beneath your foot, wonder why we’re turning

your secret prolonged in the only car space in the street

you turn off the engine just as children rush into whisper welcomes through the hole in the roof

I close my eyes

wait for their echoes to die down

trying hard not to think what you are thinking so hard about

you make me wait in darkness at the door

your actions seem remiss of habit and yet surprisingly automatic

computer, lamp, lamp

no fuss…just a blush rising up to cover the paintings on your walls

until the door is half open and you are gone

I find you under the stairs

perched on the edge of the bath like you are settling in

and there you begin the second most sacred ritual of your daily life

a strangeness to all eyes but yours:

bony feet, crimson tipped, hold the shower door open while you cultivate green rivers in your palm

lathering hands reveal eyes ravaged by hungry lids

fighting to keep not only the acid away

you are gently revealing the face you were born with

plainer by far than the two more colourful facades you have adorned this evening – both grace and lust

yet much more remarkable

simply for it’s significance – removing the air between us

allowing whatever this is the end or beginning of that your toes are knitting into the bathmat…'

memo [2004]

'...you are a military mother of gigantic proportions

waging wars against the hearts of all who choose to speak not only against you, but out of turn

when you awake in a bath of orange peel and honey

you dismiss it’s significance

those things have always happened to you

your name is written somewhere on a spine

up high, just shy of the periphery of candlelight

your pages unopened for years

though your ideas and even a few direct quotes surface regularly in conversation – sometimes accompanying vulgarities, but most often whispered by feeble mouths who barely know what they speak of

but never fear for your memory

for your fairy lights still hang between the pupils and retinas of the few who hold true to your possibility

the minstrels ears are still tuned to the note you intone from on high

singing the many heart strings you have played through all time

perhaps you too have become cynical in your old age

but remember….you are 'love'

and we are listening...'

toward rabigh...

an orbit complete, equinoctes and solstices arrive & depart

i am marking off the longitudinal deadlines that dissect the space between us
longing for your wild seed to rebuild all that i have lost
an anchor in an ocean of blue
the presents of friends
the tales of strangers
the marks of needles
the unspoken words that flow toward rabigh
a small singlet hidden away
white
solemn
surrendered…

sound wave [2002]

‘…yet again you are wearing your angry face

and I am all of a sudden knowing – this is serious

full on and head first into my fault

sleep brings metabolism

and arms so recently flailing about me now reach to smother the bruises with “you’re my darling aren’t you?”’s

only amongst friends are you affectionate when sober

ever tight-fisted when you’re not

and I am suspended in this amber fluid between us

muffling your words surfing harsh waves to find me

but not so much as that I cannot catch their drift

sinking with pots

sunk with a final pint glass

when I say good night I am left in silence, on the edge of the opposite side of our bed

hearing my own voice betray me

and wishing as it travels away from here

that I could be but one sound wave behind it…’

the end of it [2002]

‘…this fear,

an ever-present awareness of yet another intimate failure

is simmering, fast approaching boiling point inside

the steam rises – a mixture of bubbles and aura smoke rings like mini-Saturns from the brightly glowing, pulsating lump of lava that has nestled itself far too comfortably where my third chakra should be

accompanied by the wretched stench of disappointment

with a hint of words you can never forgive someone for saying

it is my breath of life

I watch what I’m wearing, mind what I say

aware that I might find you high again today…

I haven’t forgotten the last time I sat in this courtyard

breathing in Nag Champa and blowing out self-esteem

watching as it dissipated in front of my face

no strength to draw it back in

[and yet I savour the droplets that hang from your words

carved out of ice and lined up like the natural progression of things on your front fence]

today, I spread out 10 yellow towels on the soft spring grass

one for every year between our ages

(although for no particular reason other than that’s just how it is)

I found my favourite black marker and I covered them all with the things I’d be gaining and those I’d be giving up

no attention paid to which was the greater

nor pause to listen to my inner voice – screaming

warning me to not let the darkness in

I just wrote them

hung them on the clothesline in the sun to dry

and stared at them until my eyes went out of focus

I watch what I’m wearing, mind what I say

aware that I might find you high again today

& one little piece of insignificant information could be the end of it…’

dover street [2001]

‘…weeks so short & wonderful

seeming so long

intensity nestles itself down on our knees

how many lifetimes since?

without purposely anticipating a life without you

having so easily climbed

how many miles must I fall to the floor?

planted, cold & shivering

spine melted firmly to the opposite side of your door

memories flow out of your windows

& I’m missing your smile & those cool-green eyes

filled with abandonment

peering over plains of skin & ridges of bone

you say you want all this but I’m not quite sure if the sky is blue today

i haven’t left your stairwell since midnight…’

me no cry [2001]

‘…me no cry

lest I dive to remember you

september is coming soon

maybe the town will close down until then

breathe deep soon

in a café in swan street

chain-smoking, reforming, vacant-eyed drama queen

accidental death of if’s, maybe’s & might-have-been’s

somebody’s always lying in love

& 10,000 years can’t erase what I’m thinking of

me no cry…’

settle...[2000]

‘…you settle your cup down

prelude to a story of how you described the colour green to the blind man on the tram

having said he only knew red, born into pools congealing

how you asked him what his dreams looked like

you’d never wondered about it & now you need to know

“A blind man helped me see today!”

a booming benny hinn

you push your sunglasses upwards along the gradient of your ski-jump nose

(yoyo’s stuck in your teeth)

& hand me a postcard from my home town

‘It’s not about finding out who you are’, you’ve written

‘it’s about remembering who you were’

I settle my cup down…’

staring off into the distance [2000]

‘…it’s a quick kiss & the turn of a back

replacing the lingerings & adventures backward toward the car

lips locked, eyes closed

it’s remembering how good he looked in that blue shirt

but only ever telling him the first time it took your breath away

it’s monotony & repetition

of the words, the gestures & the experiences

that takes the edge off it

& blinds your ability to realise you are in the presence of something magnificent

a smell, a place, an aura, a sound

‘til you look back & wonder why you weren’t happy for those very moments you were together…’

friendship [1999]

‘…friendship is the true seed of love

your questions the probing roots

breaking the shell, seeking their length

your secrets the anchor

the sexual tension their struggling through every grain of soil

that falls upon you like the sands of time

nurtured by the warmth of the tenderness you share

& the golden rays of your aura

that escape through your teeth when you smile

like sunlight

your tears are the moisture that quench the thirst

when your laughter is sleeping & your stem becomes dry

to accept this love

is to break through the soil

your leaves part the earth with the opening of lips

& unfurl like a tongue seeking freedom

so may you begin to grow…’

so much to tell you [1999]

‘…I guess I should call but

there’s always a ‘but’

so much to tell you

I wish I could just look at you & you could know

so I don’t have to break your heart with my very own mouth

if I am silent, surely you can tell

that’s the way it ends here in the land of emotional giants

everyone’s too big to admit they were wrong

like I was to have entertained the thought of you

I am sorry

I know it isn’t much

& it pales in comparison when you are offering me the world

but I never asked you for it…’

baptism [1999]

‘…enya vibrates through the door

into my arm

resonating through my every molecule

rain is streaming down my windows

just as tears have streamed down my cheeks today

& with this simultaneous emptying of the sky & my soul

comes a freshness

the chilled breath of the invigorating air of hope

& I am alone, but never lonely…’

life lessons...[1999]

‘…Never tell a friend you don’t like their partner (unless they ask you straight out, then be truthful but diplomatic)

Forgive people who have hurt you…you too have been cruel

Don’t be afraid to snort when you laugh

Make as many sentences as you can using the letters of your name

Nominate one day a year other than your birthday that is YOUR day

Learn how to realise you are dreaming without waking up

See a foreign film in a language you don’t speak without subtitles & make up your own storyline

Count the steps it takes you to get from one place to another

Pay your bills on time – at least once each

Leave a book in a public place – release it into the wild

Observe the night sky (preferably through a telescope) & learn about what you are seeing

Don’t always hurry to get out of the rain

Pack up everything you own into boxes, just to see how many there would be

Never tell anyone it’s going to be ok, it’s not & they don’t want to hear it

If your are balding, acknowledge it, it’s beautiful, comb-overs are not

Never wash your hair with soap

Leave just as the situation is peaking

If he hits you or cheats on you, leave, it will never be equal again

Exaggerate at least one detail of a spoken recollection when appropriate but never forget the way it really happened

Every now & then, leave the washing up ‘til morning

Never let the sun set on an argument

Paint something other than your nails with nail-polish

Transcribe a tram conversation – it is material that can always be used in some form or another

Always understand exactly what someone is saying to you, no matter how many times you have to ask for it to be repeated

Learn how to operate a coffee-machine

Touch an amphibian (preferably a frog)

Never mis-pronounce or use words you may falter over when asked to explain

When people compliment you, nod, do something unsightly with your mouth & point out a funny shape in the clouds even if there aren’t any in sight

Acquire re-upholstering remnants & hand-make a cushion to rest your feet on

Never tell people you’ve done any form of modelling (even if you have) it not only smacks of vanity, it invites vicious speculation when you are out of ear-shot

Always own at least 3 varieties of cactus but never display them in the one place (window-sills excluded)

Never be seen with a lollipop in your mouth

Despite the concensus, they are not cool, it makes the meatheads think you constantly want to suck cock

(ignore this advice in instances where you DO constantly want to suck cock)

Send your parents a card with a poem in it (preferably one you have written yourself)– as long as it does not contain the word cock, no matter what kind of people they are, they will cherish it

Have 5 variations of your Sunday best but only wear them outside of weekends - treat the week-day people who know you

If you think this is an epiphany

It isn’t

Step out of the line

Go back 5 re-incarnations

& never tell anyone about this …’

risbey lane [2000]

‘…there is magic in back alleys

under a full moon

where laughing girls, swollen with the beautiful voice of the goddess, dance & sway

it was hard not to imagine that their smiles were lighting the world instead of the moon…’

weekly ritual breakdown [1999]

[Preface]

‘…she is overwhelmed by the smell of drugs as she walks into the bathroom, flares pulled up over her knees intending to wash her feet….she’s thinking about taking a bath…’

‘…she has another bathroom mirror conversation

uneasy, shaking

make-up running

if only you could see the pathetique

she knows it’s mainly lack of sleep

but the thoughts are brewing again

same time, same place

twisting their way through grey matter at body temperature

appropriately resembling the contents of a cement mixer

escaping as long-winded sighs that hang from her tongue

& unfurl like solemn flags of surrender

she liberates a week full of pent-up suffering

absorbed silently along with the smoke in equal portions

by the towels, the exhaust fan, her hair & the one inch gap under the door

it’s stale residue lingers ‘til another washing day…’

maiden [1998]

‘…oh the people I have been

golden-haired child

only now am I realising the volume of the mysteries inside her…’