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.

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.

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.

Chickenbones

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

ghosts

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.

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

seems

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

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.