a gentle place

In these hours between dusk and midnight I find myself mimicking the matriarch. I mend small things. Put love into inanimate objects. Breathe immortality into all that I own.

I wonder at the passage of time. My growing attention to detail. A patience that comes from glances cast over a shoulder, and seeing a whole world unfold.

Not that I am perturbed by these things. Not that my hair falls like autumn into winter. Though my habits and addresses are deciduous, I know myself to be more perennial than the small scraps of memories one calls a life.

And so I impregnate pages. Nourish small openings of hope. Sing lullabies to my garden. Tell bedtime stories to my fears.

These insignificant gestures and humble moments are enough
for me
for now

domestic muse

Do you know what lust means?

I hear it click click through night and day dreams. Eyes closed, red shoes...theres no place like home.

Something about pussy with no courage, girlish innocence, heartless men and vindictive hags. This is not my fairy tale.

My bed times tell different stories.

Where the garden has become over run I resort to herbicide. Sky blue bottle, it seems so idyllic; like volcanoes and mushroom clouds.

I carve out intention in small wooden pallets. Lay plans between planks and stone.

gustation

If I close my eyes I can hear it rush past me.

I am surging through the days, with lists and diary entries. In the early afternoon I drink tea with the ranges. I am reminded that time crafts all worthwhile things. While my quick fix gratifications scull coffee and chain smoke ciggerettes there is a silent part that counts small things like the stars.

I tiptoe between them.

That part of me which feeds on it, scoffs it down drooling. There is a part of me that waits patiently with open palms and deep breath. My dreamscapes change focus. I am not sure of the direction yet am still scared of sitting still for too long.

Prehaps if I wouldn't have to eat so quickly if I didn't pile my plate so high.

sky swept clean

the mornings are clearer. less weight in the sky. with clouds i am lifted. swept clean by the cool autumn air.

the river is fading. marking the point between seasons. i am on the other side. tracing the last of the cool water as it winds down through the town.

in these small readjustments are cataclysmic changes. richoter scales the walls and then comes down again.

on these cool nights we grow closer. clarify like that great dome of diamonds that stretchs upward.

a canvas of satellites. we reflect what is meaningful, what is frivolous, what is futile. all the while keeping pace with the roations of home.

as it should be

With precision I mark up the boundries. Fluid yet defined.

The morning emerged like a dawn should. Refreshed. Bouncing through the house. I am revising lists and angles. I am asking for nothing but honesty.

There is an urge to carve quickly now. To push with full force into what I think might be. I am muzzeling the dogs and tethering the horses.

This new thing is fragile. Startles easily.

I am vaugley europhic, depsite my anxieties.

song for the sky

The sky stays steady the day through. .I am humming myself into calmness this afternoon. The light like a lullaby soft and low.

When all the swirling subsides there is a moment of friction, where I rub up against my own silence. My mouth moving in muteness. My mind seeking deafness amidst the distant pounding of my hearts desire.

Could we ever leave this place of knowing and voyage into the wilderness? Could we be confronted with our own nudity? I am slightly curled fingers, inhaling wet earth, singing sailor songs to the sky.

drenched

A flood gate opens. We are at the mercy of the torrents. Huddled under thin scraps of iron, peering into the grey and white streaked skies.

That which traps us brings us new life.

Shivering in my underwear, seeking refuge with the insects and rodents. My mammalian instincts run deep this morning. The warmth of my blood contrasts the air.

I am seeking islands and building arks. I am ignoring that part of me that screams evacuate. I am postponing all decisions until the waters subsides.

drenched

The river rolled into town this morning, frothing at the mouth. I caught it as it slid down the sand, leaving branches in it's wake. Everything is redeemed in the soft light beneath gray skies. Beer cartons afloat become life boats for insects and abandoned hopes.

The desert has become electric. Lightening carving the sky in the early morning. The sound of the heavens spreading, the gutteral choruses of angels, wake me from my sleep. When the light slips into my room it finds me restless, burning through my dreams of torquise lakes and mountains that never end.

My soul whistles in it's locomotion.
The inspiration surges once more

bask

My heart falls over itself. There is a profound silence preceeding a dull roar. In this white room, accompanied by the jerking movements of the clock I am reflecting and regathering strength.

I wonder at these insights that flutter like moths wings in the night. Swooping low like insects across the grass, collecting dew. I am softer than raindrops, more brittle than resin. In that quiet place holding a latern to the corners of the room.

between midnight and dawn

That which binds us is our greatest key to liberation.

I keep watch with the early hours. Practice accounting of every description. In this early morning luminesence I cannot decipher red from black. The spectrum disintergrates into the slow ticking as time leaks from my clock.

A slow drizzle envelops the desert. Grey nomads and thunder clouds. A wet blanket cast across Autumn. We need more purification it seems.

from the left

A sudden whirlwind overtakes me. The desire to blow everything down and rebuild. Prehaps it's been the electrical storms, rattling at my windows each night.

My impulses are dynamite. I'm up for running. Stretching legs to the horizon and galloping until these fidgets are diffused in wide open space.

Let me be propelled from one moment to the next. Suspend the hammer before it smashes. Shattering everyhing in site. I stare at the ceiling until the walls come down. I am clipped wings mimicing flight.

deep breath

despite all my apprehensions, I am grateful for this process.

the shedding of skins overseen by caterpillers, stretching in both directions into the horizon. for all my doubts i am trusting the many reasons why i am here. it is our fears that show us where our greatest strengths lie. there are no weaknesses, merely sore spots. acheing calling for relief.

each day the sun is reborn. there is no need to fear change

on truth

I dissolved into the sand beneath that magnficent midnight skyline.

Something lifted between those trees. A weight soaring upwards on plumes of smoke, transiting to that place where Things Can Finally Rest.

Sleeping dogs lie about alot of things. I'd prefer to tell the truth. Unexpected revelations and the chance to name what had been lurking amoungst the folds of my heart like a campdog around a campfire.

For the record your honesty anchored me as I cast myself into that great expanse. Grounded me in this place without tethering me to what has passed. The chance to look back over your shoulder and describe the landscape is a gift.

And with this knowledge I can walk forward. With this knowledge I can begin anew.

re(turn)

That which has been traversed cannot be recrossed. There is no use in trying to plough a field with a fork.

It's a clouded convolution but I am holding out for rain. I'm not sure where the the moment stops and where I begin. But I am learning, slowly burning small bags that appear in my dreams. I am tracing outlines round the edges. Dotted lines that let the light in.

perimetre

A shock marks a boundary. Carves out the space between what is yours and someone elses.

The sudden disconnection threw me. Backwards. Hurtling away from so many small strings. Revealing the unclouded moment in which I lay. In constant suspension, traversing time, like a small cocoon hoisted above a ravine.

And when my fever rose, I did not feed it. I put my stick away. I watched it dance along that perimetre, lines emerging from the sand.

If I were braver I would be less cryptic.
These wings are still waiting to dry.

Chasing the sky

Swimming in the stars. Enchanted by the constellation. Dancing with the pendulum from death to life and back again.

I am serenading the illusions that envelop the truth. Staring down the realities, lining them up like ducks in a row. A potent brew, I drink deep of the moon, howl my wishes into the void. Thrust myself like an echo, from the base to the summit once more.

Emerging from the underworld, I am draped in all of my dreams. Opaque in the dawning, these things that ellude me are just within reach. By the time the sun sets, the strip tease arouses my senses until I am basted. In the twilight the nectar dribbles down my chin.

Another slumber starts the cycle again....