, , , ,

there lost in the riot of my own stupidity,

red & beating while the engine cools

& the sunset fucks off: nothing


is ever about a shared experience. such perfumes

jostle for position in ‘memory’, the concept album.

you could smell it the factory was value-adding


on cue the barometric pressure drops & you,

so beautiful when captured, even with gaze

averted, a preternatural model of engagement:


she sits on a bench an illustration of being alive.

stop sign graffiti as local route marker – my senses

specific & always at fault, giftwrapped like a gift.


is this an ending? i’d crave more abruptness &

a three act resolution. toes to mingle under cover,

a dawson’s creek light coastal wind parting


your hair, a final admixture of fingertips…

all just the anecdotal padding or

sticky tape or something else.



, , ,

in the long grass everything is a cushion


i’m spread on the world & we’re an empire of plants

long butter knives from a corner-eye vantage,

jousters in service of hunger


the world is under your wheels


a static thought bubble but here i am or was,

remembering interference, names, the owner-proprietor’s

gilt font, a semi-black bra outline under that white shirt, always


buttoning up like it’s regimental – ascending an ascent –

steering via knuckles such a giddy & terse bracket of living


so my work with sound it’s more a study of walking arm-in-arm:

the anzac dogs, dogs waiting for the anzacs & thinking fine,

the courts shouldn’t let this happen, you know?


(the ambient potential of a startled wallaby equates to

your legs, specifically the hemline to sock gap in the context

of a fine massage ascending the calf muscle, everything

staggered, ‘incremental’ just another word for hand-spans)


i wish i was an escaped horse, bolting like a solo in reverse

until time pops: i’ll think of places i’ve been now,

filter shit times through a formal logic –


only because i’m a country girl


born & bred & unshod out back, the smell of rain passing

the gums, muscles loose under thumb & it’s another

pointless week spent strategising / wood gathering


i don’t understand my own triggers


facebooked my sister with it after wine but it’s nothing, & later,

in the poem you can just say ‘it rains’ in the poem

it can always be the past (the cat licked ice-cream

from my bowl, long grass drifting from it’s back)

see people are together & swaddled by cushions

& nothing, it’s only touch:


everything was a bit mental, mostly old people & most of them

did most of the talking (in the long grass) then the door was

drummed sharp like neck-bone-on-neck-bone…


rhetorical aspirations closed under the book cover


your hand as image it ‘smarts’ (i’m quoting myself)

remember the thin white shirt in the long grass,

i wanna know what you’re wearing, if anything


i’ve been saying without guile: ‘i don’t know’

& making lists (wrote: making lists) marketing

the remainder of a lousy dinner party – anyway


pretending at the bubbler, glistening

digits covered the effort of making

a fuss, your secure senses at eleven

a backdrop parody & the world

all oblongs, an odds on war in forbes

with the assimilation of hugs, daylight

savings ends in quavers of speech,

this is the colour of inversion this is reunion

or the idea of it, bucket bongs in the

cupboard & the budget reply was in

soft focus, same difference,

are we allowed to touch:


mood swings measured in giga-

bytes, a mental echo of past tourist

mansions, the led-lit green a dark

forehead anointment, a thing




as an actor / technician under the palm tree squat

i’m obnoxious or just bad at small-talk i’m in

emotional error mostly reflective shadows

stretching to a cackle backed up in three locations

the contour of afternoon’s crosshatching


why you’re a captive audience times change we multiply


arriving exhausted but sugar-free


i’ll be stormy like a rum like impotent swirls after flashes

after nothing / i’m a gazelle & a hunter & a new car just

wrote to you that i wrote that, that i should stop: increased

the green saturation heavy rain beat in the shower


i’ll park under your fringe & camp for the view

ample-bored click at images of being worried

it’s the new complacency but i’m determined in this

2009 circa-not-certain a compliments depth charge:

i endorse you (changed that bit) she looked over the footage


light beats mood always anyways tea & whatever

you want & await the ok – the past like a doll unblinking

i looked prettier composed, wrote: the shot exaggerates

backs-of-heads & laptop glow, a bedroom aurora-borealis



, ,

you made it: honeyed &

husky in my eardrums & so

on time / neck-height like

all greater western theatrics

crashing in i sound guttural-

to-matter-of-fact / frame this

by bushfire remnants of twilight

traction & tradition – you are

ever orotund / you are silvery

but twofold in the dark, binaries

curved to a persistent sigh / so

conventionally un-geometric

as the waves perk tremulous

it’s a quick disconnect / flat

as earth is i’ve got no plans /

everyone cruises the land

everyone meeting halfway




all the sweet new designer accolades

how many people could you confidently

confide in, a serious question under hard

light, pose it / i fixed everything

this time yesterday then swung violet

full-circle a turn of merriness / i saw

your house stolid where it’s always

pinned picketed augmented / bae!

& so this is thought / birch trees dead at

minor drought’s first rumour / you laugh

but are sad with your human drives / silly

this time today & i prefer to negotiate the

vascular irregularity of my own eyes / wrote:

waxed on sunset tones & marbling or

something / were they talking about me

behind hands? that’s so overdone/ a cutting line

that includes ‘whatever’ because of reasons:

it’s an industry event we continue to achieve but

much else so

i’m a cheek press or lips whetted

decisions in a look framed by chambered

footfall now tradesmen talk about fucking

loud after 10pm at the steakhouse back-

window i’m all of these things at 2pm

& i notice what you do: this emerald month

this broken attention-span my body not

quite compact – anti-desirable &

awkward under a double rainbow

the petrol light threatens the radio

stressed locality & you’re so sensible

a one-track thematic here, i thought

the sensation might fade with time

like so much else so wrong



, , , ,

a hive. sentences on tumble. applemint tea.

thought contracting. a paperclip drought. gillian

anderson. naming things / hunger. i’m sipping

perhaps. removing all online traces of ‘professional’.

the word. i still want to go for that walk with you.


a grassed field & all the clouds like yesterday, like

today. pretense & variation too slight to observe.

let’s observe with our naked eyes.


i’m factual when viewed from the park. or by slatted

blind-light over-the-shoulder. i cut my own hair. silly.

life is shorter than ever. everything asked with an

interrobang. totally un-mawkish. how are you?

should i be focussed on voice now. undertones.

i’m a struggling small business. every other

person, a better option than me.


a five-point circuit of chlorinated refraction
time vault against nimbus tufts palming
your blonde bob & this coiffured absence
we’re all psychic all poisonous 50m laps
the tendency to repeat gestures i’m itching
into verbs & mood-swings in the afternoon
you’re narky i’m tired you’re pretty then
wrote: it’s made-for-television
but for the endless complexity on moonrise
hey i’m extending my thighs like a plagiarist
non-tagged it’s effortless some bearded
model of the badlands specifically t-shirted
on-pointe for planned selfless roaming



, , ,

lamplight pinned to the setting day’s pantone code

just for me & every time is a new time this open swamp

full of walkers is glass-half-empty stupid


handcuffed imagine your own routines as if there’s scope

or room to move cicadas answer the torturer ad i mean

no doubt all animals are lonely what do you feel like

when you’re tired? more beginnings


at reception looking left past the hair of the girl

like it’s me there (time flickers the bulbs fucked

it’s february (reminder: gallery at 10 (all interaction

leaves a psychic imprint a wine stain in the air


swans paired outside the window paperbark

in the foreground you don’t care still

more questions proving everything to your sister

nestle in that space over & above the closet


i’ll wind the windows down struck all 80s reflective:

the slight downy refraction over your left ear: a thing


then noticing anything is hard a bird it slams into

the plexiglass another girl coughs idk yeah no it’s

those scars left open at the local pool unabashed &

it’s the maccas coke the skin & the veins underneath

plus it’s being teased it’s getting stressed

where do you stand on cuteness where


i jumped at the black snake preoccupied

with that gold cresting the palms back there

trying to frame a description using words for later

but taking off socks blasts it away & our own

communication forum persists also a thing


then it’s headlights & 20-20 sight within mid-week air

i’m just a part-time molecule agitator


read subject-line-less emails in the gloaming to birdsqueal

girls or shadows persist powerwalk in pairs

a crazy hexagonal route lit by lightning

maddening polyrhythms


my lack of focus


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