Thursday, October 29, 2015

Death is the road
less travelled
till it becomes
the journey
we all share

I am holding your fingers
up to the sun
trying to see truth
through the skin.

I am holding your truth
against my skin
trying to see
where we might
turn away
from the rumpled one way ticket
clutched in your sweet hand

The pendulum
on the clock
refuses to move
still time
still momentary clarity
in the unsound
we make in our lives

I caught you
eating farewells
on the stairs
and asked for a slice

We share
burgeoning mortality
from differing dimensions
pushing against
the membrane between and within

never breaking through
but seeing
just the blurred definition
where once

we were so clear.

Thursday, April 09, 2015


The numbing taste
of disassociation

How we dance
through and between
the dappled dying rays
of Autumns promised
cool kiss.

You breath the song of fading
melancholic clear notes
to catch and cling to my skin
then gently
sink deep within

"Take ownership"
you said
tucking my collection
of deaths and disasters
into my top pocket.

Watching the stars fall

waiting for the sound

while you bustle
and fill your time
to avoid thinking too much
about what I might do

Wednesday, October 23, 2013


God is a delusion
a sweet confusion
created by men
alone in dark places
to bring comfort
when the faces
they see in their dreams
belong to strangers

I have no belief system

All the building blocks remain

I can reach out
and touch
the rough texture
of my existence

But they are lifeless things
stained and worn
stinging the thick skin
of my fingers

I pray for
blood trails in sky
an excuse or

to remove my eyes
and placed them on a lonely
country road

waiting for cars

waiting for stars to explode

Waiting for the redemption
I was once promised by
the caress of all
who loved me.

We are strands
running fast through the hands
of time
colours deep and worn
born at the dawn
each thread
a story torn from eternity

We scream our relevance
to the indifference of

What you are
I aspire to be

what I am
you still cannot see
or believe

Time is a thief of hope
coiling us into forgotton
bundles at its feet

And no one told me
I would thrive or survive
that was my mistaken truth
my aching brutish mantra
to cling to

 I know
you are waiting for me to release

I know
brittle is my name
and the sun is wane
on my skin

Naked in the distilled waters
of my unraveling
there is a calm
 to the cold

a balm
in holding on

Monday, June 03, 2013

I cannot hold you

would you have me
embrace the tears you bring?

Planted so many years ago
in good soil
where the sun would always shine
where the rains would bring life
where the wind would not bend or break

I cannot look at you

would you have my eyes
fall on barren ground?

The leaves were thick and lush
the trunk
strong and sure
to bloom each year
a dazzling array
a splash of colour
a scent to bring summers
and spring

I cannot speak to you

would you have my words
turn from truth to lies?

Pressing my fingers into the bark
push through the rot
and spotted bleak bleached limbs
crushing dead leaves under foot

A bone of  memory
pale in the morning suns
weak light

We gave a promise
 to nurture
so long ago
to feed and nourish
to protect and care

But we could not know
the blight
that comes in a moment
that steals the life
the beauty we thought eternal

We could not fight
the unseen

Too late
I will always whisper
too late

 Now I am left to
scatter thoughts
onto the cold air
and leave them
hanging there.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

I bruised my knuckles
on Melbourne's dourer sky 

Heavy tread 

we are almost there you said
but the grim pavement 
still a ways to wander
 little lost souls

still days to plunder
with a dazzling smile
like the rasp of the nail file
across my skin

The tram lines 
carve Collins street in twain
look closely
you can just barely 
see the blood stain
a dull crust
on the polished metal railing 

Someone asks me for money

but politely 
not like France
where they will stab you
 given half a chance

Here they beg
with embarrassed eyes
and the dirty hands 
shake just a little
as if accepting the money
makes them
less than a beggar 

How can one be
less than a beggar?

He spins and curls back into the throng

roaming aimless along Swanston
lost in the myriad

We never arrive 

we never even 
assumed we would

the blood wells
from my hands
and you kiss them
the copper tart
 on your lips



Monday, February 25, 2013

Wind swept hearts 

on a vast empty life-scape
pin points of deepest black
sun stealing
light eating

ever unfulfilled

I was soaring through Flinders Lane
drinking down the  rain
and a dying mans painful
memories of how he was
and why he never will be

You have not called me
my beautiful boy
for so long now

the post it notes of yesterdays
are pasted
and falling up onto the ceiling

Morning flutters
 in the stiffening breeze
 of times current

a thermal of
cannot stop

carrying us upwards
into the glare
into the future
that wasn't there ten years ago

on a busy downtown street
scattered and dissipated by
a thousand voices
bursting us asunder
leaving our protestations
swallowed in the thunder
of another pointless
feckless task

ever unrealized

 I was crawling along Burke Street
awash in the crowd
swept along with humanity
as we lurch into the next
the sunset days
we knew would come
but kept running from
non the less

You cannot fill
my beautiful boy
no matter how hard you try

pouring days and scented wine
down my throat
pressing kisses to my cheek
and washing my feet clean

the post it notes of

evening hangs
heavy in the still
as time stands
and waits for us
leaves us behind

Windswept hearts
and a sense of passing

the only things

Sunday, February 10, 2013

The coming Storm

His beasts
crowding round for the final 

The air in the Austin
is subdued
pressed down by the weight of
pale ghosts
that float above the beds on the ward

Air conditioner hums
dimpling the skin
through thin gowns
that cover nothing
but expose
the bruised flesh
the naked helplessness
the embarrassed whispers
of bodies
bloated with disease
necks puffed up
groins lumpy and distended

Nurses waft by
fluff pillows
log stats
moving amongst the visitors
with careful concern

His beasts
impatient gaping maws
drool pooling on the scrubbed floors
claws clacking as they circle

The specialist
appears , thin arms and
gawkish hair askew
murmurs words

bone biopsy
elevated cells
all falls
a death rain
upon his tired patient

He offers hope where none resides
offers platitudes
to cover his inability
to cure
promises to return
and fades into the pale walls once more

His beasts
sense submission
resistance falters
one hand dangles down
to be licked and tasted

The monitors
one word
blinking red neon
against the eyes of the gathered