Sweat clings like a long distant lover
sending text messages
in the heat of the day
the pallette of pinks
grows starker
as we deteriorate
We are rising steam
on the bitumen
momentary illusions
conquered by speed
night swept and wasted
cut cooked and tasted
and spat out onto dry river beds
Beneath the kitchen sink
between detergent and dried out
sponges there is a box of redemption
going stale in a lunchbox empty
and outdated filled with apples peels
and too dry tobacco
The truths that we float on become
soapsuddded and eyes bloodshot
iritated at what we have seen
spiteful remembrances serve as
unspoken condolences for opportunities
burnt into favorite pans
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
awaken
the half breed dingo wakes us
from our dreams of owning land
my lovers over interest
is nothing compared to the banks
t
from our dreams of owning land
my lovers over interest
is nothing compared to the banks
t
Friday, November 28, 2008
backlog
Basting
the desert is steamed greens
wholesome like a childhood
that disappears
with red and purple horizons
against the asphelt
of the highway
and the bustle
of other places
we are squeezing
through the thin light
last night
standing at the gates
of my whitefella
palace
listening to the chaos
of poverty
in the creek
we are sizzling
like the water
against hot sand
when it rains
fearful of cities
the narrow spaces
funneling traffic
and spitting out dreams
of silver screen ambitions
that end up as plasma tvs
I want landscapes
bigger than my ego
so that I can be swallowed
with one hissing
of breath
I cannot
return
to a history
that is only written
on toilet walls
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The aftermath
I wanted to be moved
like a renovaters wet
dream
wanted you in my bed
and out of my mind
I wanted
Fuck
I wanted
This is me
digging ditches
in dry river beds
with sticks
and bones
drawing circles
in the sand
pretending
I am more realistic
than you
In that bed
where we inhaled
the darkness
I repeated
the same old lies
with a new twist
sour in my mouth
This is me
slicing up walls
pretending I'm not
contagious
with swollen throat
and breath
more baited
than any of your lines
shadow boxing with rain drops
and numbing myself
in landscapes sublime
Saturday, November 08, 2008
morning phone call
I don't want what I can touch
phone lines tangled in washed out
roads
and swollen rivers
I am a long distance
lover refusing
prepaid
tickets
on myself
You wake me with
propostions unexpected
to tell me you've come
into some money
and my anxiety
weeps
its been sixteen days
since my last kiss
and several lovers in between
i'm changing
my profile
to reflect the projection
i am more than you suggest
Googling my expectations
finding
your writing
posted critique
this is every celebrity
crush moment
between fingers
like desert sand
the future always happens
on windy days
when we should be doing
our laundry
when dirty sheets
are calling for sex
and only filled
with last nights
my indecision
is contagious
and sattelites
mediate where
my mind cannot
in multimedia images
and bland generic
fonts
Sunday, October 26, 2008
untitled
the afternoon was a lesson
in physics and meterology.
we stripped down to our shoestrings
tried on mascara and eyeliner
end up half cut and salted
in wet afternoons
Saturday, October 18, 2008
mush
The country is much too vivid, we are assaulted by our paradigm. the shoe fits a little tightly please don't remind me that the world is a playground for my kind. we shineon balconeys sweat lipped hair lipped we spin yarns into fibourous balls. this is my cat call rolling out across foriegn language tounge across every song you memorised before sung and now the night seems to vicarious to brush aside. my body is bruised and lethargic. swallowing down moutfulls of tumeric and honey to revive my sense i just want to lay on your table and be dressed for dinner all day. marinate slowly in my own self worth and he asked me why I am such an extremist and all I can say is 'I don't know but when I was a kid I was obsessed with swings and strings prehaps now thats why I am a yoyo.'There is only one thing I hate worse than the people I can't be and that is those that I could. it doesn't seem like an effort, bending my tongue into these shapes but it's my memory that seems less malaeble.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
day one
the country is intimidating
in it's silence
i feeble creature of dehydration
with fourty year half lifes
riding the sand
like a wave
beneath us the saltpans
are sleeping
we are a brotherhoood
of saline
as the moisture is extracted
from my skin
in rays
here we worship moonbeams
when the sun rides high
like machetes in war time
carcasses do not deteriorate
but tan into oblivions
of dust
Saturday, October 04, 2008
too many bloody marys at the airport
This is every memory that was worth having.
locked down in airports, lost in transit like baggage
that you needed to leave behind.
I am immersed in my own self interest
we worship this silver screens tapping in unison
watching the reflections
of my own imeninet departure
in airport screens
in bloody marys
it's the end of an era she said. we swallowed harder, imbibing more
of everything
before the clouds descend upon us. rob us of the memories we were meant to keep. leave your baggage in your sleep.
This is my digital wave. Streched across every delayed plane. across every profile stalker, swapping between coffee and vodka and laying off the water. this is me, existing in all the places I shouldn't. immersed in a country smile, sweating my skin slides off me and muscles grow fresh across my brow.
Self interest is the only thing
that keeps us
Sunday, September 21, 2008
translations
it takes me fifteen minutes on a search engine
to decode the messages
from the bright lights
bene
the hog from new guinea
the floodplains don't speak
french
the northern frontiers
are filled
with frontiers
and savages
we learnt
indonesian
and kriol
at school
now the country
moves beneath me
too quickly
captured
between
salt
and sand
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Report from the edge of the arafura
the mangoes grow lewd and pungent
to the washing machines psychotic crumping
and the excess of beer
They're giving up saltwater
rolling through swathes of gourds
the manicured garden,
slovenly spreading
like our legs
like our troppo sores
we are hitmen who became moving targets
rubbing eachother too closley
because the dampness demands it
because between the concave sky
and the mood swings of the ocean
there is only pink and yellow
light
and we
are not beings
but sacs of condensation
bulging by early afternoon
singing songs about summertime
and big cities with good coffee.
the clouds suck out
what our words can't replace
we are losing more ground everyday
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
motel room psychosis
It was a motel room psychosis
caterpillar dreaming
serpentine neurosis
always ends of flicking coins
Startled awake from lucid dreams
I stagger to my email
I am rohypnol on yr window
and the torn toenails inside yr boots
Every jabbering do-gooder
ends up in the arms of a rifle
Every down right dirty negligae
ends up a housewife with two kids
I am lustful like a salesglut
thighs full of bruises
coming down of last weeks binge
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
two seven
he writes
to tell me I am older
lines grow deeper
embedded memories
scrawled across my face.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Chayni
you are full belly taught
no abortion room singsongs
this time
morgage and marriage
art career and maternity
a garden and sensible affairs
glistening on museum walls
paintings of your life
excluding me
you wrote strangers into your artwork
printed tshirts for your new friends
i become a byline in a minor work you never sold
Smooth white paste
pigmented and spotted
this is me filling your outline in
scuffing my hands on too-short rope
trying to bridge the ravine
of our youth
slipping on insecurities
i watch you receed
with my memories
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
beasts
The dawn makes goats of us
searching for grass
with tethered necks
and feathered feet
Good cowgirls keep their calves together
I'm out hunting road kill
smelling the bitumen
looking for something thats still warm
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
show me a traffic light
I'm so sick of roundabouts
round about tonight
you let me into the slipway
but now which way
I can't double cross
these broken lines
buckle up
stay tight
don't drink and drive
are the only signs
so won't you be my traffic light
i'm so sick of roundabouts
round about tonight
won't you show me a
traffic light
I'm so sick of roundabouts
round abouts tonight
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Her face
was a wicket,
too stumps with wood protrunding
strapped together with gaffa tape
her fingers were muddy
from the back forth
of point scoring
she had slid her way to victory
one too many times
her whites were stained
she longed for the colours
of one day match making
beyond the commitment
of test victories
and tarnished cups
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
mid season
we dangle carrotsdreaming of lamb chops our faces stuffed with grasswe circumvent circleswe prefer straight linesso long as we can still get bentour faces light up like neon shop floorslike fluroscent exit signswe imbibe our youth drool through sensibilitycoughing up enough to pay the bills
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
snip
She cut small strands of hair
a slow release of memories
prevented the pain of letting go
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Sensible
Her ankles ached
it was a sign of stability
the hotel room
the wallet laden with cabcharges
the sensible bedtimes
and low risk drinking
the desert is steamed greens
wholesome like a childhood
that disappears
with red and purple horizons
against the asphelt
of the highway
and the bustle
of other places
we are squeezing
through the thin light
last night
standing at the gates
of my whitefella
palace
listening to the chaos
of poverty
in the creek
we are sizzling
like the water
against hot sand
when it rains
fearful of cities
the narrow spaces
funneling traffic
and spitting out dreams
of silver screen ambitions
that end up as plasma tvs
I want landscapes
bigger than my ego
so that I can be swallowed
with one hissing
of breath
I cannot
return
to a history
that is only written
on toilet walls
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The aftermath
I wanted to be moved
like a renovaters wet
dream
wanted you in my bed
and out of my mind
I wanted
Fuck
I wanted
This is me
digging ditches
in dry river beds
with sticks
and bones
drawing circles
in the sand
pretending
I am more realistic
than you
In that bed
where we inhaled
the darkness
I repeated
the same old lies
with a new twist
sour in my mouth
This is me
slicing up walls
pretending I'm not
contagious
with swollen throat
and breath
more baited
than any of your lines
shadow boxing with rain drops
and numbing myself
in landscapes sublime
Saturday, November 08, 2008
morning phone call
I don't want what I can touch
phone lines tangled in washed out
roads
and swollen rivers
I am a long distance
lover refusing
prepaid
tickets
on myself
You wake me with
propostions unexpected
to tell me you've come
into some money
and my anxiety
weeps
its been sixteen days
since my last kiss
and several lovers in between
i'm changing
my profile
to reflect the projection
i am more than you suggest
Googling my expectations
finding
your writing
posted critique
this is every celebrity
crush moment
between fingers
like desert sand
the future always happens
on windy days
when we should be doing
our laundry
when dirty sheets
are calling for sex
and only filled
with last nights
my indecision
is contagious
and sattelites
mediate where
my mind cannot
in multimedia images
and bland generic
fonts
Sunday, October 26, 2008
untitled
the afternoon was a lesson
in physics and meterology.
we stripped down to our shoestrings
tried on mascara and eyeliner
end up half cut and salted
in wet afternoons
Saturday, October 18, 2008
mush
The country is much too vivid, we are assaulted by our paradigm. the shoe fits a little tightly please don't remind me that the world is a playground for my kind. we shineon balconeys sweat lipped hair lipped we spin yarns into fibourous balls. this is my cat call rolling out across foriegn language tounge across every song you memorised before sung and now the night seems to vicarious to brush aside. my body is bruised and lethargic. swallowing down moutfulls of tumeric and honey to revive my sense i just want to lay on your table and be dressed for dinner all day. marinate slowly in my own self worth and he asked me why I am such an extremist and all I can say is 'I don't know but when I was a kid I was obsessed with swings and strings prehaps now thats why I am a yoyo.'There is only one thing I hate worse than the people I can't be and that is those that I could. it doesn't seem like an effort, bending my tongue into these shapes but it's my memory that seems less malaeble.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
day one
the country is intimidating
in it's silence
i feeble creature of dehydration
with fourty year half lifes
riding the sand
like a wave
beneath us the saltpans
are sleeping
we are a brotherhoood
of saline
as the moisture is extracted
from my skin
in rays
here we worship moonbeams
when the sun rides high
like machetes in war time
carcasses do not deteriorate
but tan into oblivions
of dust
Saturday, October 04, 2008
too many bloody marys at the airport
This is every memory that was worth having.
locked down in airports, lost in transit like baggage
that you needed to leave behind.
I am immersed in my own self interest
we worship this silver screens tapping in unison
watching the reflections
of my own imeninet departure
in airport screens
in bloody marys
it's the end of an era she said. we swallowed harder, imbibing more
of everything
before the clouds descend upon us. rob us of the memories we were meant to keep. leave your baggage in your sleep.
This is my digital wave. Streched across every delayed plane. across every profile stalker, swapping between coffee and vodka and laying off the water. this is me, existing in all the places I shouldn't. immersed in a country smile, sweating my skin slides off me and muscles grow fresh across my brow.
Self interest is the only thing
that keeps us
Sunday, September 21, 2008
translations
it takes me fifteen minutes on a search engine
to decode the messages
from the bright lights
bene
the hog from new guinea
the floodplains don't speak
french
the northern frontiers
are filled
with frontiers
and savages
we learnt
indonesian
and kriol
at school
now the country
moves beneath me
too quickly
captured
between
salt
and sand
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Report from the edge of the arafura
the mangoes grow lewd and pungent
to the washing machines psychotic crumping
and the excess of beer
They're giving up saltwater
rolling through swathes of gourds
the manicured garden,
slovenly spreading
like our legs
like our troppo sores
we are hitmen who became moving targets
rubbing eachother too closley
because the dampness demands it
because between the concave sky
and the mood swings of the ocean
there is only pink and yellow
light
and we
are not beings
but sacs of condensation
bulging by early afternoon
singing songs about summertime
and big cities with good coffee.
the clouds suck out
what our words can't replace
we are losing more ground everyday
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
motel room psychosis
It was a motel room psychosis
caterpillar dreaming
serpentine neurosis
always ends of flicking coins
Startled awake from lucid dreams
I stagger to my email
I am rohypnol on yr window
and the torn toenails inside yr boots
Every jabbering do-gooder
ends up in the arms of a rifle
Every down right dirty negligae
ends up a housewife with two kids
I am lustful like a salesglut
thighs full of bruises
coming down of last weeks binge
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
two seven
he writes
to tell me I am older
lines grow deeper
embedded memories
scrawled across my face.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Chayni
you are full belly taught
no abortion room singsongs
this time
morgage and marriage
art career and maternity
a garden and sensible affairs
glistening on museum walls
paintings of your life
excluding me
you wrote strangers into your artwork
printed tshirts for your new friends
i become a byline in a minor work you never sold
Smooth white paste
pigmented and spotted
this is me filling your outline in
scuffing my hands on too-short rope
trying to bridge the ravine
of our youth
slipping on insecurities
i watch you receed
with my memories
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
beasts
The dawn makes goats of us
searching for grass
with tethered necks
and feathered feet
Good cowgirls keep their calves together
I'm out hunting road kill
smelling the bitumen
looking for something thats still warm
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
show me a traffic light
I'm so sick of roundabouts
round about tonight
you let me into the slipway
but now which way
I can't double cross
these broken lines
buckle up
stay tight
don't drink and drive
are the only signs
so won't you be my traffic light
i'm so sick of roundabouts
round about tonight
won't you show me a
traffic light
I'm so sick of roundabouts
round abouts tonight
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
scoring
Her face
was a wicket,
too stumps with wood protrunding
strapped together with gaffa tape
her fingers were muddy
from the back forth
of point scoring
she had slid her way to victory
one too many times
her whites were stained
she longed for the colours
of one day match making
beyond the commitment
of test victories
and tarnished cups
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
mid season
we dangle carrotsdreaming of lamb chops our faces stuffed with grasswe circumvent circleswe prefer straight linesso long as we can still get bentour faces light up like neon shop floorslike fluroscent exit signswe imbibe our youth drool through sensibilitycoughing up enough to pay the bills
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
snip
She cut small strands of hair
a slow release of memories
prevented the pain of letting go
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Sensible
Her ankles ached
it was a sign of stability
the hotel room
the wallet laden with cabcharges
the sensible bedtimes
and low risk drinking
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