twenty-three hours ago bleeds to

twenty-four it’s effortless & i’m losing this


imagine me my own midlands doppelgänger

employing the bright white of a mobile inbox

to navigate every darkened bathroom


swarthy life in the oak leaves past

these blinds & it’s only pointless video

to accompany the tradesmen


caught out referencing real people you

retreat into the more inert visuals

though slightly trembling & roiling

the leaves might be aroused, full of intent


possibly nothing will ever stand up now

after a subtle shade of lipstick & corner of

floral dress, eleven hours post-impress

year that was

Well it’s definitely been a busy year. But then I suspect life is just always busy. If the pace ever slackens up I’ll be sure to let you know. I have had a lot of work-related travel this year though: the NSW Regional Arts network always meets three times a year, but I’ve also been in Sydney for grants assessment meetings, plus the very very memorable Regional Arts Australia conference in Kalgoorlie. So, you know. Busy.

Sometimes when you work full-time it can be hard to prioritise or even justify your own individual creative pursuits. Nevertheless I think it is a necessity. Making the time to work on the projects and ideas that you really want to can help keep you sane, keep you going at all those other times when you need to perform / function as a human being.

Of course I don’t have any great tips to offer on how to achieve this. I’ve come to value the hours I have to myself late at night. I get some exercise, I try to clear my head, and I try to get some writing done. I’m not sure why but I did have an unusually productive period over winter this year. Maybe temperature has everything to do with it. I put together a useful amount of new poetry, and this is material I’m hoping will one day be the basis of a second collection (still do buy a copy of lollyology though, if you haven’t already…) Some of the poems have been published this year too. ‘perfect teeth’ and ‘binding’ were both published in Cordite 47. And more recently my piece ‘winter collation’ was featured in fourW 25, published by the Booranga Writers’ Centre.

Over the second half of the year I spent a couple of hours per week acting as an online mentor for distance education creative writing students at Charles Sturt University. It was a small but stimulating role, something that kept me in involved in a dialogue about writing. I’ve taken this on a few times previously and it is always rewarding to see emerging writers flourish under guidance.

My role at Western Riverina Arts has also required me to take a lot of photographs, to show off in a sense. I’ve been really enjoying this though, playing and exploring what a camera can do. I was quietly pleased to see that Riverina Local Land Services (an organisation that has funded a number of our projects here) have used one of my shots of the irrigation channel in Leeton as their Facebook profile image.

Finally, I guess I’m now looking forward to an even more productive year in 2015. I’m aiming to really focus on that second full-length collection of poetry. I’ll also be finding the time to work with Jason Richardson on a long-planned poetry / film project. Let me know what you’re planning in the comments! Only if you want.


10846022_844342652282549_8620761288752050028_n(At the launch of fourW 25 in Wagga. Image by Debbie Angel, Booranga Writers’ Centre)


derek upended the current assets to non-current

talked for fifteen minutes. he’ll clean his glasses,

half-cough out the time. no need to watch.

myopic cunts stream past the shopfront hip to the

funding round. i’m dreaming of a carawandool road

with dust motes, the window rolls down & then

we’ll have to parse each other’s eyes… then:


there’s a danger working on endings it’s teleological

or boring. autumn is less profound in this hemisphere &

we smile at everything. cause to slow & indicate cause

to park, to break, rationale to force a human stalemate.

wade through the long grass buttressing kamarah’s oval,

there he is, a reflection – derek so causal checking his hair.

pfft he even looked it up. we could be anywhere.



keeping at experience as a function of

the contemporary edit: self / un-self / msg.


if i proved anything in the way i said sorry

(that time) it’s everything. there’s a million shots


from aside the harbor bridge only one of them is true –

so i’ll keep at this. not much else to choose.


my princess bubblegum but much more

with & without hope. backchannel subtleties,


implications, & legit withdrawal. everything

is apt i guess though, as contemporary


people, circling structures, etching glory.

earlier & my daughter plays piano.


there’s this fickle smell of rotting crustacean.

i burnt down the microwave she says,


right now, as if on cue. totally cute.

the retirees fell asleep but clapped & you know,


it was & is hard to determine a position.

it is what it is is a thing we say.


i took photos from a low angle courting ‘spectacular’:

of course you’re in on that: sharpen & saturate. de-fringe.


this afternoon i wrote then backspaced: it’s been harder than

i thought. kicked my thong, paid the swim-teacher.


how good is regret & how keen, i mean. anything

to get you talking. so gross. this is so atonal.


detail / mask / amount


samurai emerging from the flatlands

saltlake pool for eyes meaning in measurements

of feet that’s how you do beach: underwing, yellow

& bronze at the insistent flecks who cares

what antimacassar means?


later she’ll chew her lip at the notion

maneuverable we’ll be out in the sun featuring

the low cut dress from behind a profound

dip from shoulder to thread the city has gout

inflamed at every crossing my hopes of lush

unseasonals just whispered over the bar

everything feels blue verging on cobalt

convenient though: the plot played out in

a flattened lizard its patterns a corrosive veil

fractal songlines in the haze & i wrote –

observations matter less & less


you ask are you ok & that’s fucking final

never hearing words again me in a thousand years

you’re hugging knees it’s a series finale the episode

filmed in the grassed amphitheatre i read everything

in your voice since inside my head where we all

live alone


powering down so this will function as my

history of things described as ‘patchwork’

you are you experiencing this now, struck

with an autonomous sensory meridian response

a projection of my flaws to make you feel


the final boarding call: connection as commodity

a simple viewfinder to the roofbeams a splay of fingers

under the table we’re a silly blanket agreement


wow getting back-to-community your contact

details have dissolved a bright green slick

an apex of fabric began the world &

now forgetting feels dangerous


a dumb stance: hidden experience in the poem

(i got that) in the lag the over-sharp afternoon

backlit the tarmac

two part harmony

house shadows shuffle & snort the night it

overreaches posting its superfluous hand signals

& incantations it’s inverse emptiness a piece of string

tied to your finger as he skims a stone you sigh

my torso is sometimes a tree root a bicarbonate

of existence an interview with virginia trioli a can

of fosters six seconds of eye contact & kids tap

the shop window magnitude dots on anti-maps

the deep passage to dubbo the profound lake

over a bowser your heart all hands free glib

at the handbrake making interest into interesting


thanks there is nothing talismanic in lookouts

the flat vantage ground a conceptual sugar fix

into the gourmet remains of crunch / the sound /

some heroic afternoon you’re not even _listening_

i’m naming demons here baby an open-minded strut

through canola a clothed memory avalanche we

weren’t born here the places of watchful service

chairperson of success at the roundabout i’ve

dried out in the hills for a week feel so lawson-esque

scheduling my 8.45 emails like a prick everything

is beautiful hobart crumbling to a single brick

a $5 note the moon a discarded thong


the meningococcal click bold in the skull’s belfry

a why do anything morning-long pang of regret


unreal acidity rolls around like luggage the

temporary fog was cheeky but only that


steering committees / head-lit roadsigns &

our hopes layered up in a routine bay


midday is so harsh it ought not exist you blink

to unlock the achievements trembling like a plant


like sketches, lava lamps, recorded conversation

in the nothing stretch you need to acquit the morning


that humming fluorescent light a taskmaster

coffee poured, words said, if only i lived more intensely


collected more parking fines while young

bronzed statuettes recant & kiss hello


the memories in this work

should evaporate









while you talk of empty rum bottles there’s also

the handwritten note, all jokes to be made


cross-legged on the carpet another monday

catching the bus checking my hair


in the newsagent window April dries & i’m barefoot

watching, forever an uncertain construct of the ride


home in bed visualise the window-seat the girl

obstinately straightening her hair get it right


before dinner divide the image by your vocabulary

never a sleeting style rain when you’ve missed your ride


only here in a room, April in the rain, pre-96

thoughts of an artistic career cresting the bridge


& anyway the horsepower of the heart strains

to animate you, hentai tentacle percussionist,


abject photon receptacle

mouth words

tailgating numbers into view for you all

pollen & rounded vowels / a cotton field

trembling to the buzz of clavier preludes.

she’s jogging past a fictional silo we’re here

after excelling. you chuckle in the low-lying

cloud with 18th century fish a-thrash in the

channel. western sweetness. fronting the

historical society: i’ll be dead before any

thing happens. anyway. just now that was.

a regional pair of shoes stood down dried

and sugared like ginger. i’ve listed the tasks

for tomorrow are you still keen? deflated

& part of the spindle i belt out a seasonal

honouring industry / worry at tarmac witches

hats / yawn over sprung harmony / get my own

baleful kicks. ambergris covers a bail of

needles & like a blogger i read about

legislation. though who’s left freckled in

america after you mobilise the left &

introduce a remainder of stroboscopic

love-fest scenarios at the mall – you’re sure

each answer is proximate. urban planned

copyright pyro-geographic afterthought:

inside a house of physics, forlorn at the tea

bags, the phone dialed. i’ve never been to me

nor booked a table traditionally. link me up

riverine style help me ogle ambient irrigation,

get high on peppermint. birthdays are

unlawful / barrels of remuneration.


beer wine & pungent coleslaw

are you derek meet everyone

gain purchase on fevered clicks

blobs of chemical smooth &

slowish you will never receive

feedback or sleep again

previously the same winter’s

candied midday would ignite

real life a slower sunset so

punctual stay indoors it’s

a hardware suburb dull &

epiphanic above maleate

gestures king hit an earpiece

her edits spiral footnotes

zipping up setting a course

the market of life jigsawed

into mime observe your

strategy listen like an orc

submit breath in the garret

it’s pointless note colours

meditate on friends dressed

in red two skin conditions

blame the rug the lexicon

gosh she slipped literal rain

into literal sight & now


a million colourbond

afternoons receeding

near lightspeed derek

the immigrant closer to

a hardware store now

an eftpos transaction

away from glass ladders

high-vis girls meters from

my car you disown air

ether splashed with

text your shoes inert

a touching thing

you are older. & catch me seeming attentive. then, some windows begin shaking while flies ascend. we swat them. you oversaw the futility. past & present clearly defined. a film version of our thoughts, prequel to sequel. a Harley Davidson cake. last year, newsprint replaced the window. your walls were marked with whispers. adulthood means forgetting maths. you reckoned on the impossibility of life, or happiness. i acted out a violent scenario. a dull & grimy set, naturally viewed from below. it’s pleasurable to sigh now. you can listen for me in the past. you touched the wall & your fingers were simply the furthest part of you.


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