Tuesday, December 22, 2009

We sneak out of a party at midnight and collect the dog for a run around the block. 
At the little dark fenced in playground, we let her off the leash and sit on the sea saw. 
You fling over the hip flask while you tell me secrets as we bounce the 20 cms off the ground 
and the stars 
never looked so close.

Monday, December 21, 2009

We lie sideways on our bed and you look like we’re on the beach with your freckles and gritty hair. 
I feel young when I tell you this and you turn your hand into a crab that scatters up the sand sheets between us.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

endings always smell burnt

I’ve been with many a show
pony who could always pull
a trick, it took but a flick
of the wrist for hearts
to splinter
and arteries to twist.
and well lodged stones
kept my insides company
and though the world was
sometimes a hush
sometimes a scream,
my ears could never quite adjust,
spinning this way and that.
I didn’t even dare to dream
of a coloured wall home,
you and all the epic melodies you bring.
And whilst it is all wonderful and all
that the stupendous greatness
blows my mind
it really is a cool bullet waiting.
Disturbingly smiling
Resting at my temple.
With dead certainty.
If I ever lost you
That’d really pull the trigger

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


Last night we slept uneasy.
We were both being chased.
I saw humans with blurred faces
they crept into the house and moved slowly.
Yours wore dark sunglasses
and jogged with headphones.
My hand found yours under the blanket.
Your feet curled around mine
and by the morning
your cheek was pressed against my nose
and I couldn't see past your beloved face
to my demons anymore.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

you know, when you go crazy with small

it’s a secret you see,
that my jealousy
isn’t as plain as a Jane
she’s a much spindlier kind
that forces my hand to feed her
she’s not really envy either
though those dark green colours
do suit her
it’s that I strive to be
something grander
and on some of these days
through some of the ways,
spiral down my own stairwell
when I search for better
place you up high
and pour myself bitter
it’s more a self hate I guess
but you’d think so much less
of my cool armor
that I polish and shine
for you to see your reflection
a tortoise who’s shell
(but please do not tell)
is actually a darkly hopeless collection

Monday, October 5, 2009

I might be missing home a little
or an open road
or healthy earth
and its rich songs
or maybe just the fresh air
and to breathe it in isolation

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

to tell you truly

Jessica Tremp was found in the raccoon enclosure at the Zurich zoo at 9 years of age, whispering stories of velvet nights and darker days and desperately trying to hold on to their clammy little hands.
When the guard approached, she took out her toy camera and asked him to look wistful.
Years later she found herself knocking knees on a bar stool with a rather dashing specimen of a male pantomime. She gestured at his empty glass and his smile made her feel drunker than she was. They quickly moved in to a tall leaning house in a street in Marseille that woke up early with flowers, croissants and the sound of jostling coffee cups but after many a silent fight she became frustrated when her arguments were met by his big eyes and hands searching a nonexistent cupboard.
One day while he was practicing the art of cooking invisible scrambled eggs, she ran her fingers longingly over the fraying stickers on her old suitcase until a tear caught on her lip and she threw some frilly knickers, her camera and her favourite caramel lollies into it and walked out on him.
She boarded a ship on the north coast promising her golden sands on an upside down country. One hour into the trip she fell sea sick and spent the next few weeks lying in her dorm unable to move. The crew would lift her out to do her bed, then lift her back in and fed her croutons from a paper bag and asked her about the people in the pictures she kept in a box. Her dreams were wild and her legs itched to join them on bare horse backs in candy coloured skies.
Melbourne galloped its way in to her heart and she settled into a colourful house with thick walls, a plastic dinosaur in its fireplace and a man that speaks her language.
Her right index finger has a nervous twitch every time she sees something pleasing. This works against her when haggling at markets, obviously, though if you gently press a camera in to her palm, you can catch her smiling. Sometimes she accidentally spills whiskey on her taxidermied animal friends when she’s looking for her magnifying glass, because, you know, she can’t see all that well anymore.
She would like you to know that she’s never burnt ants with it and
she’s never boarded a ship again in her life.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Why does the taste of pennies remind you of losing a tooth?

I wasn’t bled from the sea
The sky bled me, opened
her clouds,
her wounds
And spitting and coughing in grays
and bruised violets gave birth
you see the sunset
was always
meant to be for a waning
and waxing heart there’s the dark
with star strings attached
to your fingers that guide your
hands to pet your hair
There, there
the tuna that whispered your fears
(yet unnamed)
now caress your toes (for a) while
you swim and you ache to join
the mammals on the boat
should have remembered the tides
and their rides to the shore
for waves won’t swallow you whole
if you allow yourself to float

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

it's 8° in Melbourne and I really wanted to stay in bed with you this morning

My new kitchen holds
wine stains and thyme
and my child fingers
dip into the pot of
the sweetest smiles
that friends shed
and it should be said
that your canny trick
of bringing my violent boil
to this fragrant simmer
is a crazy kind of beautiful
I’ve never felt so warm on
such an icy winters day
And I believe it to be true
that all the bees that
were buzzing in my bonnet
are busy making honey
for you

Monday, June 8, 2009

found a little path back home

Took a little time away with me
A few books
Some rum
A hell of a lot of sun
Wore a hat
Like it had always belonged
Swam with turtles
Held my lovers hand
And didn’t have to let go
Danced with a coconut
On dusk-lit sand
And slowly but surely
Made friends with me again

Sunday, May 17, 2009

push and shove

I can feel the weight in my toes once I really get swinging.
The rope feels rough in my palms in just the right way
and the wooden seat that I press in to when I stretch my legs back out,
well, I wish it dug in a little harder.
My stomach does a little skip at the highest point.
It knows we’re on our way down before my body can even follow.
And I have to admit I hate that part the most
even though I disguise the panic by letting my head roll back
and my hair trail along the ground,
collecting leaves and twigs on the way.
And on the short little climb back up,
the sun twinkles just so
and I fake a little smile
because I’ve learned the rhythm well enough
to know there’s only time for a spurt of a giggle
before I kick back at the knees
lean forward back into the abyss
and I pretend to know it all here too.
But it’s impossible to see what’s lurking behind you
or who’s out to get you in the most tricksy way
when you’re swinging backwards

Sunday, April 26, 2009

the architect

I am building a fort
like when I was seven
with the pillows
and the chairs
my aunties cats hairs
and a safety blanket
with its holes
where the light came through
I’ve got the string
I’ve got cookies and milk
I’ve got scarves of silk
but this one extends to the beach
and lets the seagulls nest on my belly
this one runs down to the woods
and nuzzles with the deer
this one won’t be interrupted
by ‘dinner’s ready’ or ‘turn off the telly’
this one is no trespassing
for both our safety
you won’t even see it
or me within
it’s my new safe shell
in my own little hell

Thursday, March 19, 2009


I’ve always loved a magic trick. Especially cards. You can have endless fun with those. I’d love for you to teach me the one where you guess the card I’m holding by looking into my eyes. closely. For a very. long. time. Here. Let me practice some more. On that bench there. But you always preferred to perform bigger and louder tricks. On stages. With audiences. And sometimes daggers. Your most notable one? To disappear completely.