Month: February 2017

A city’s secret Up a steep stair. A swing door Kept shut. Fusty light Too tired to shine Sits in corners By faded florals. Secrets. Wary steps. Come up. (Mind the step) I’m in Room 3. Left at the top. Bring your scent. Your gorging eyes. I’m in repose. I’m in your head.

Your lines, Aurelius, are stiff; the age demands a long-er breath. The age   demands the unexpected flare-up of vamparism. A reel more disturbed than genocide, even (which is, the mass and systematic slaughter of a people); some unusual childhood, say – not, at any rate, a mere exercise in formalism, or the sculpture of…

pond the light fixed over the water at night draws them down onto the mirroring skin that bends breaks under their light-footed claw or bristled span of leg and their grounded flummoxed thrashing closing them down under it in long starving breath legs working in vain knowing only back and forth under the water impassably…

cells       for Keikei you whispered you love my cells love to slide along and into them those cells in my thigh my back my chest my cells, you breathed to me in a folding of the dark, make your cells shine like a channeling of moon along your thighs make your cells twist around…

the hours* the hours goddesses of cicada wing stitched with rainbow filament that crinkles under man’s brute touch how they fly in strength upon us gentle from us. morning, 29 november 2012 vulcan lane, auckland *From Wikipedia: ‘In Greek mythology the Horae or Hours (Greek: Ὧραι, pronounced Hōrai, “seasons”) were the goddesses of the seasons and…

My childhood is inside this box of noise. I found it at the back of a shed, Wires twisted and its coat enslaved in dust. My parents bought this when they were poor. Mr Fraser spoke from here. On the war. And Aunt Daisy, live from Wellington. How wonderful to hear her voice Away up…

But the gravel rash of another time stopped us, Don’t take the road of rocks and stones, But the path of long wavy grass, Be thankful to the dark of night for the stars lead our way, We survive because the fire inside us draws us home.

I have it now The dimpled leather, The crumpled tab. It was in the drawer With an old watch. It was my father’s. A cashless wallet. He held it with his right hand, Slid it from its woollen berth. The skin of an animal Protecting the money. It was so comforting To see it displayed:…

I can smell my dog’s life In the softness of her coat. It is sunshine and silt; Grass and rabbit runs, Softness of surrender. I know she knows Pain’s shadow, hers, mine; The passing hand of love. In her heart’s beat Is the joy of woods and willow. Her soft eyes are story’s stories: The…