I count the beads

on your string as your

lips form shapes which

give substance

to the emptiness of air,

& meaning. I go


on like this, hours,

fingering your pearls, feel

minutes drop, lose my

way & when you’re

still, it’s like

everything else is.



even the birds

need to shut up.


everyone does

& everything.


long live silence!

with my ear muffs


on so tight not even light

can escape them.


they’re industrial.

all i hear is the throb


of my head, if that.

2 sisters

When i got there

she was on her back & her sister


who’s like eighty herself

wasn’t much help. We pulled her


up but she died & after that

i thought about it, her stiff


board, the flaked bits of her

skirt & cardigan, the stink of


dog, how heavy she was.

I’d never seen her room before


or thought of it

on the other side of my wall.



kill my buzz, i deserve it

kudos to you, i said,

good for you &

he went on                  &


more dead

than ever i

laid down


heard                           birds                            the breeze

slipped in &                 if                                  anything

i was happy

You’ve done that again?

Think if you can a picture
Of you and I embraced in a kiss
Feel how I tremble inside
Sorry if there was something I missed
Outside tonight
We can take on the cloak of the dark
Before the dawn of another day
He said this is what it sounds like
When purple doves cry
You are the feathers of doves
But you requested I stay away
What was I meant to do
A lonely world so cold
But you’re young and bored
I mistook you for something else
I was voted most likely to not succeed
With you beside me was simply a dream
Yes they talk of me up in the skies
I would have shown them
But the news says never till I die
You are just another thing I needed
I’ll find another like before
Before I fall off another ledge land head first upon the floor.

our solitude

rub the dark

spot of her

solitude, her


feathers                               down


..                                             give,

the water here                  is


mottled, spun

by the late sun,                 high

clouds & gulls


heading out.


& still                                     we’re alone

even when I

sanctify these

gentle folds

beneath the                       cold heavens.


muses, help me

Is it true if you is

cool hang loose lie still

long enough you can see

the animals of the garden,

trees as symbols, the soft gods

that dwell among the first knot of

men, curious; the careless weeds free

of the tyranny of summer lawns – man before


the law. I am done. Undo me.


How can I live

with a job & a bank acc

& die like everybody else?


the question is not rhetorical



The cat                                    sprang

across the lawn


the bird between

his jaws                                   I hadn’t thought


much of it                                because

I was



on the


A friend

won big                                   on the

Melbourne Cup                       Was


too drunk to call on my birthday

which is cool


& this cat


I’d just taken it

to the vet                                because

it got hurt in a scrap &


there he is

rocking his baby to sleep


there’s no future in writing poems

about writing poems.


the critics of the next age

will know you crapped out


with nothing better

to say.


This poem,

for example, is nothing


apart from what it says

& what it does


to you – to see me

go – as the


garden blooms –

it’s hard to know in


spring all that

is – shall pass.

unfinished scraps

because I’ve had every sickness there is,

I’ve become immune to everything.


I don’t care that you’re violent,

say things that aren’t true,


& that I talk

when it makes no difference.




my dog got his eye cut, & now we’re looking for some left-handed cat

last seen heading north in a black hood & white jeans.


Let those cunts scrap it out. But I had to fork out 116 fuckin dollars. Which is

too much alright: I guess