seasons greetings

Something must surface. We can only hold our breath for so long.

Skimming the bottom and looking upwards. The light is split into each corrugation. Each movement refracted and rippled. I am transfixed by the changes in form.

I come back to that place of gentle chaos. Sit straight backed in the eye of the storm. And the howling, it is a lullaby. I cradle the rocking breeze.

As surely as the wind will blow dust from my eyes. As surely as the fire germinates the seed. As surely as the flood clears the debris, as the earth turns death to life again.

This too shall pass.

a calm fear of embrace

I am anxious in my vunerability. I oscillate between the ebb and the flow. Cool comfort seems elluding. My pattern burned deep in my cortex. I am repetitions of repetitions of repetitions.

I am longing to open my heart and pour out milk and honey. To smother yr lips with sweet wine. I am fearful in my longing. I am hesitant in my embrace.

Am I learning too quickly? Am I deluding myself?

My cards fall where they will. I tell myself stories littered with riddles and fears. Smatterings of truth filter through.

if it is my own transformation I am witnessing,
then why do I so desperatley want to share?

half waking

Despite the turbulence I am tranquil. Remain seated as the lights go on. My nocturnal imagry contorts. I dream of train tracks and streetscapes and deafness.

I am still fossicking amidst my adolescence. Searching for clues as to how I got here. I am falling in and out of alignment. Interspersing the melee with a cool breeze.

All four points are shifting. In every direction the horizon mutates. Not that I find this disturbing. It just takes my eyes a while to adjust.

garbled

Pivotting but not pivotal. Suspended between nodes. Circling like a sattelite. Reflecting the coldness of deep space onto the humid air below.

I capture and keep each sound from the outer realms. Tack them to my wall until they lose significance. Something fell away today but I am yet to find the empty space that remains

We giggled into the void. Held hands at the precipice. She and I jumping. Red shoes clicked. Wands snapped. The witch absconded with a small dog. Last seen heading West, dust billowing behind her.

I am yet to translate the transmissions. Preliminary findings suggest something momentous. We are unsure of it's dimensions

gently now,

Sometimes it is best to leave things where they lay.

Leave them sleeping. Eyes fluttering with dreams. I won't wake you to tell you all the stories I've just discovered, written in the skin of the moon.

There's milk and honey in my bowl. Fresh fruit on the trees. The seasons turn slower than the days. I will be paitent like the ground that aches for spring, although winter is yet to arrive.

the last of it

I linger in the midnight blue. Taste the last of sunshine before the cool. My revelations are pastels, soft and smudged in the early eve.

Too many hard corners have bruised my thighs. From this small summit the landscape undulates, mimics my oscillations, my sensual exhalations. My backyard reveals hidden treasures; broken sculptures and small childrens toys.

I am panning for gold. Through the dirt rises glimmers. I can't make out the weight but I know there are treasures for the taking. Time will tell if I am a fool or if the dull glow confirms the true value of that which I desire.

of the gentlest kind

In the murky haze of alcohol I strain to reach you. Fingers fully flexed. Mouth open. Famished. Seems I haven't eaten in days.

These brow beating afternoons in my bedroom serve as no subsitute for sustanence. I always scoff my food. Try to let it linger a little longer on my tongue. But my gullet is calling for more of what my hands are thrust deep into.

In the desert there is no horizon. There are only mirages we mistake for waterholes.

Last night I dreamt I was swept out to sea. I tried to swim sideways whilst you watched from the shallows. I play this game with myself you know. Roll the dice and call it fate. I confuse my own devices for tools.

Until it takes me I will keep my head above water
They say drowing is the gentlest death.

diss conection

I swing through rage and back again.

The constant beep beep of disconnection pounds me to sleep. Grinds against my jaw. There are only empty spaces now. Only empty cartons and piling dishes and a list of things we no longer share.

I resist shut down.
Try to keep open.
Try to carve a line between what is mine
and yours.

Righteous is not the same as right. There are vowels between us.
I keep these things private. We are two whirlwinds.
I implode upon myself.

unscheduled interruption

It slips into the spaces between rational thought. A lingering lustful fantasy, that hums in the background. Like an insect. Like a radio.

I am handfulls of paperwork, espousing theory. Trying to link action to reaction to reflection. I am right way, wrong way, the middle path.

Then it slips up my skirt, transports me beyond.

If I could focus it would be blurred. Soft lines and rich colours. A tapestry of desire in the eye of a needle. Like a rich man. Like a camel. Like a slice of proverbial heaven.

Sliding down my throat
Then I revert back to normality once more

and so it rolls

Constant fluctuations. We talk of wave patterns, roll through the details, imbibing tea and lessons learned.

These breezy mornings move us beyond stasis. It is not just the insects gnawing their way through the days. We are stripping the old growth, searching for new shoots.

Something that sustains.

tiny tantrum

A small inferno.

When everything changes, something must burn. There must be ashes and smoke and coal. The sunday seared. The thermal winds sweeping me upwards towards boiling point.

I wanted to howl like a banshee. To scream for a four year old child. To sever these bonds so I wouldn't have to feel the force of emotion when you two finally depart.

I am not used to being left behind. I am always the one that runs.

Gutter(al)

You could hear it from down the street. Roaring like an ocean, slapping against the banks of the footpath. Gutteral screams and raised voices. Bins falling like dominos as they approached.

It couldn't be the moon. It was but a slither. Maybe it was the day getting even with night. I know this: he was angry, prehaps as terrified as me. I could smell it rising off of his scalp.

Screaming at me to stop staring. How the tables have turned. Me in my nightdress closing my door on the terror outside. Once I walked the streets in those shoes. Fury leaking from every pore. Scrambled through hedges naked with gravel cuts on my knees.

Prehaps I doubletake to check that I am still inside, and the past remains out.

on grace

I realised I'd slipped out of her shadow, though I couldn't mark the moment that I left. A gentle fading, like the tide being pulled back towards the moon.

I filed my fangs, retracted my claws. I am no longer whirlwinds and howling rain. I am no longer romancing my demons, courting them with hisses, building walls to keep us cosy in our aching.

Although the fear may still rise, I know that it will no longer knock me off my feet.
After so many years it is finished.

on locusts and lettuces

In these days of locusts I am grateful I am not a lettuce. My tender tenticles carefully disguised beneath waxed coating and thorns.

I am yet to wash the memories from my sheets, but my underwear remain unstained. My heart only races when the caffine rushes. Pounding down tracks on high rotation remains the domain of my ipod and computer screen.

Still, in the mornings, when my eye is torn between the grace of leaves and grass, I find myself stuttering. My fidget is a minor tick that betrays the lurking surges of insanity. It is only on small occasions that I trace the scars and touch the memories beneath.

sigh before slsumber

I drain my body with a long languid swig. Cast it onto the bed. The day diffuses as I cut wires from neck to shoulder. Disconnect mind from heart.

It swings low.

The pendulum a lullaby incarnate. Rock me gently sweet chariot. I dream of three cities, and so many houses in between. Personalities cast into the dust like thistles. Some perish, some struggle, some thrive.

Now I make my nest out of spinifex. Equidistance from all that I love. Menage a trois with the devil and the deep blue sea. The starlight, my mistress, I forsake all but the sky.

something to learn

It fell back into my lap. The evidence pointed in one direction. The push and the pull shoved into my face. In that sudden slap of awareness I realised that the answers will not arrive addressed to you c/o something recognisable. Evidently the universe is not a short order cook.

And then the waters receeded. I walked along the banks where the river had flowed. Realised that it is our choice whether to tread water or swim.

illumination

The dark of the moon illuminated what had skulked in the shadows so long.

On that short winding road home, my sister shined for me. The truth slid into place, clicked like cogs freshly oiled. The binaries multiplied into the infinite, like so many satellites above us.

Sustanance supped over breakfast. I am cradeled by the webs we weave. Though the fog may dip into the valleys on cold mornings, and the dips in the road may rattle the chassey, home remains a constallation, drifting in the night skies, lighting my way.

it hurt nonetheless

Not that you would care enough to read this. The distance does not affect you the way it does I. Is it that long acheing highway that sings me into delerium, the generations of expansiveness that makes me stretch and long and ache?

My core is soft. Tender like kisses. Falls like raindrops on corrugated iron roofs. It beats loudly and weeps softly. Has a penchant for whiskey and flights of fancy.

I pity the object of my desire.

redemption

I sang all the way home.

the currents racing through my arms reconsituted. i became moist flesh again.

red and greens blurred on the horizon. a slow waltz with country at dusk. the one two three one two three reverberating through the creek bed. despite the onlookers I know we're alone.

Ocasionally I stumble yet you catch me. it's been so long since my knees have been grazed. I walk upright these days. Though my arms may itch and my nails may ache, these things do not bother me so much.

You save me each and every one of you. With small gestures that move mountains. One grain at a time.

Last chance saloon.

Should you find yourself alone with a quiet moment, resist the urge to fill it with electricity.

Although the hum of technology may comfortingly whisper from the next room, refrain. All the pixels in the world won't capture what can slowly unfold from the shadows, still wet and licking at it's skin like a new born bird.

Peck through the shell.

The yolk of your infancy has long been consumed. You have filled up all the white spaces. Your beak will break if you curl into yourself any further.

The only option is to fly.

where the heart is

The red washes back over the horizon. My new home is ochres and whites. I unpack the last of the rations from the city. Wipe dirt from every surface. Pretend that I'm new.

I have revisted every skerick of desire and found myself captured by the expanses again. Rolling over the horizon in steel tubes seems appealing for so long, now I am singing for rest.

Somewhere between the green grass and the sound system I lost you. Found myself where you had been.

All of the old things have new places. Finally, a start to the year.

THTHTHTHE THE PIGS ARE CALLING FOR SOMETHING TO SNORT. MY THOUGHTS ARE BROADCAST EVERYWERE BUT HERE

finding it

We shout our wishes to the breezes. Try on masks in small town op shops. Wolf down pies before howling midnight tunes in sunny backyards on trampolines.

I am letting the light into that small chamber where romance is playful and dreams still come true. Every bad accent is a reaffirmation that the only location that matters is here.

In the moments when the connections electric, when sparks are fire flies under fluroescent lights. My heart surges and fuses get broken. Buzzing like power lines.