Sunday, October 31, 2004

a promise as good as a wish

apprehensive to the point
of mystery
throwing up sensitivity
stars of the close dust

everything in traverse
skirts wishes desire
rolled inside
a flower

disco music isn't the end
even hard of heart
but what is the point
of snow?

don't promise the blue
or return
satin leaf
to the fickle vase

jewelled beasts

wild beast jewellery
infringing clown cups

fecund magenta terrace
filament threadbare unoccupied

patrol plum composure
attenuating insomnia sacrifice

microscopic thumbnails tackle
harpoon rawboned plumage

twiggy cough spitfires
jade wobbly unleashed

dewy marbles jazz
tug woof reptilian

nowhere forehead sapphire
roccoco clipping legend

transact laquered pyjamas
courageous stagger formation

banked gaberdine motorbikes
spied bloody discomfort

rotting gown deluge
nectar retreat azure

parting communion puncture
cylinder squirt buckling

pollen goddess panning
eyeless martial stealth

cellophane steeped detectives
nocturnal tangerine surveillance

tremulous handcuffs determined
passionate bluffs toppling

bleached mica underworld
circumscribed abyss weir

trellis bones flourish
ineffable surface moss

bringing up the dead

green window flakes along grain
a thief’s hand takes earrings made of stars
an absence in your life

old home's sweet smell
time runs off the suburb’s glare
above a ruin of atmosphere

a quarrel amongst doors and voices
another country talks hope
the dark enough familiar

traffic spits against old walls
whispers learning in half-lit corners
the future was felt before

in the box




missed all these

shut away
buzzing box

traces flicker
busy screen

This is no way to make a fortune

To be a diviner, twisting the rod.
Afternoon falls into a room
with its silver webs and bright knowledge.
The grid of bricks where words could
chase along the passages.

Sitting in a van, weeping for time.
Which always scoops away.
Stacking boxes of unread schemes
in the garage was the beginning
of a bad week. She didn't need
a sign or a reading, or bent lipstick
to prove this. Mondays lead to
Sundays in every inevitable way.
You'd go crazy examining motives.

You'd start wallking away.
You'd slip on the cracks.
A barking dog and summer flies
would mark you for irritating.

Football commentators could weep
with season's end.
Everything ends. Just as it goes on.
The show, the fancy dress
the active persona.

Flipping a phone
the world's full of messages.

daylight saving

ground slant to the slide away

welcome mat and the grasping knock-on

wood dead paper lying and blowing

the other valley the clear sky

gone peripheral

time to the fear pulp rag
grasping birds and garage bands
the alien friendly

caved-in country that can't read
another perfect day stroke
and bling bling

'without action' 'without words'
grazing on peripheral vision

Saturday, October 30, 2004

highway game

highway ploughs old paths
flat out speed takes further
from what’s forgotten

climate broken leaves once story
hunter and hunted together
swift/ slow without rush

smooth black bitumen
beauties travelling metal
teeth mark rubber


cold air from the south
leaves rattle the yard

bored with the aliens

As they take the city
the music is what
angers you it’s
obvious isn’t it

big Armageddon
a screen full
of searchlights
and squelching

but emotionally
there’s something
not right.

rites tides

sandhills travel below sky
beach flat horizon runs edge/edge
the lagoon is clear in shallows

a ritual before the elements
their due, sand, weed given
a brown, dirty hue

keep close between flags
water chills, shouldering away
the low pull

in summer’s self-content
dig and stumble
fossick the surface

in a millenia of molluscs
sticky common silica
remnants cling skins

truth rocks/ tide’s disbelief
ducks rise in formation
bank off to a place near the bridge

far out is green and choppy
expect the beyond
immersed or running from wash

scoops shells, pink brown zig-zag
tiny bowls emptied pools
grooved on one side, wide and flat