Impending relief

The sky is upon us. Moistened and streaked with greys. The starkness of red poincianas suspended in seas of green. I resist the urge to regress to feutal imitations in the humidity.

I am breathing salt and scented fruit. Plump and bursting. Even country seems to spill over into the sea.

The air is cooler. Breeze brings relief. I have come back to myself. Dripping. Bloated. Sprawling.

The sky splits. The creeping shadow of rain fills the horizon. I am waiting for it's arrival. Certain of relief.

Between spinifex and spear grass

I dream of the ocean most of these days. Thoughts drift of stone ranges, over red sand and settle on the warm currents and misty air. Float down through storm clouds and onto the land.

Between spinifex and spear grass I am tangled. Caught by burrs on either side. Country calls so loud the voices overtake each other, and silence becomes a dull low purr.

a day to call your own

the day suits you. cool with overtones of grey. it is gentle, yet if you look to the trees, you will see their edges shaking before coming to stillness.

if time and space are no indications of reality then I am with you and you are me. and we are both curled into arm chairs, wishing the slats had enough boyouncy to keep us floating, or would give way so we could disapper. we could flick the pages of the book my mother bought me to console me under the fluroescent lights of the shopping centre.

at least it is not a hot day. the light would be too scathing then, would show up more of what should be left to the shadows. with no clouds to protect us from omnipotent eyes my recollections of catholicism stalk me around the back yard and along bitumen roads.

when we see to much we go blind.

better to bask in the softness. to shelter beneath layers of water. water breaks softly. leaves no marks on the skin.

in this unmarked skin i will wait for you, catching droplets of water, whilst you hold up the sky.

with nothing but the stars

It seems so long since my heart has done backflips. I've taken to sighing over cups of tea, listening to songs I've long stopped dancing to. And smoking always smoking.

I tend gardens, cook elaborate meals,study the lines on my hands. Ocassionally I catch a hazy face between the folds of skin.

From palpitation to dull throb. I go sleeveless through these summer days.Everything worn like shoulder pads slides down my wrists and into my palms.

This ship charts the known and unknown. Between sleeping and scrubbing I search for stars between newspaper and peices of sky.

Small mercies

Small mercies are easy to pray for, can be muttered under ones breath. Redemption is complex, requires coupons and paper work and waiting for things to return.

I practice stillness but still have not mastered it. Feign it best when I am fatigued. The year is eliptical, drawing into long hot days. This last month, so slow and so full.

My plans are chalked. Wash away under water. I am acheing to soak myself in salt and moistened air. To escape these small heartaches that tingle in my soul, like pins and needles across my chest.

I reached out but you did not see my fingers, straining.
I will never speak to you of these things.

on pots and steam

watched pots don't boil. i spill over into the morning.steam rising from chest to eyelids and out into the open world. fingers curl to palms and already i am raging and thrashing in time with the heatwaves.

i string fences with tension. pulled tight to each post. wire lines not to be crossed.

i repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and reapeat.
this knock down get up knock down.

the suggestion becomes statement. the boundries erected.
pliers in hand. i enter this day.

end of it

slip my fingers into of a darkening sky. as the light recedes we notice more of it. amidst the greys and the blues it is easy to forget the white heat of the day. the blister outlives the burn, becomes callous and part of our skin.

the last of it gets caught beneath my nails. i carry it with me through the night.

the little dictator

If you could see how close to the edge you are, prehaps you would consider putting on the brakes. A flurry of ignorance, creating dust clouds. Storm warning in a sheltered room.

I wanted to turn with vicious canine teeth, with froth around my jaw. To hurl back at you all that I have witnessed. To deconstruct you until you disapper.