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At the far gable end two small windows, which were barred on the outside, flanked a small narrow room, which was portioned off from the rest of the room. It was used as a dressing room for amateur dramatics.

Iodine Dreams

Mermaids like glitter called into the night, They swam in lemonade crystal currents, Navigating the ice chunks of iodine, Burnt haze danced around him, The Smokey shimmer his engulfed dinner coat, Dusk now sets it bares, Peach-puff was not an alley cat he knew, But he held on to his cats eyes, He was despised […]

on writing

I go with what I’ve got, a fly on my foot, the sky hung with intermittent starlight; a distant hum, near by like blood pumped; cars, cicada, city scum; glass reflects the room I’m in, holds me near/dear, returns my frown. I dream   of her.

calling

calling the stars are young voices in a park deep into the stone-washed blue of evening the moon atop that sky a ferris wheel drawing them in, cloud toward the silver wood and glades of sea i walk in the glad frost of their voices falling. july 2012 howick domain

renaissance

midnight her light glows between the curtain low I’d close shop my eye- lids at a drop,,, I’m dead, tired & when I lie beside her I dream I, walk again

A leaf fell from the trees

Lonely a road cold Leave the critics to their retorts This is no scripture No ancient Latin definition It’s a story of how they met For the rest of you this is where it begins She sits with an apple Entices the serpent The boy will follow Biting into her neck She eats the freshly […]

Shoal Harbour

Bright city light meets waking dawn Incandescent shoal shimmers Strangley symbiotic Harbour bridge traffic an aural backdrop To birdcall and lapping water Strangley soothing The puddles are delicious Shells cut my feet It’s all relative, I am content

on poetic composition

my word isn’t blood or milk spilt or symbolical of it.   i’m cut by what’s remembered, what is not & the gap, a flat windy lot that rings like wooden chimes.   for days, as mice play in the cracks between my toes & fingers, i lie in the hollows or high billowing like […]

The Bookseller

The book seller does not look up He is lost in the art of the non-sale His book is held out: it a prop and he the actor. Here he rules, with Frame and Sullivan; Michener and Collins The air is stale, fusty with his leavings He manages a feigned smile: ‘’Looking, are we?’’ There […]

Abandon.

I tremble goodbye to ground as a banner unbound in wolfish uplifts; undone by the shrinking farm of faces, breathing in the changeling depths beneath

otago sky

otago sky all the leavings of stone and sky from creation that fateful day are dumped here i saw skies in one this early morning stormings of cloud long shores of it burstings of gutted pink torn out of the pages of genesis poplar towers poplar shoals rocking in that wind its flog in shoulder […]

Rats in the Attic.

The atrocity of sleep
 – its rasped, wooden cogs turn greased and gruesome atop me. Leaving me slick, sick in its absence. A wonted tryst with a vanished shadow
, pending repetition – a witch’s vigil is at my windowsills. Want is the moon, the forecast – 23 floors down. My faculties are static, while rats […]

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