Beach wet sand in grey drifts.

I am waiting,

was always waiting,

when the wind howled in.

Tussock and saw grass,

buffeted,

a shack,

weathered boards in disarray.

We had lain in there,

naked,

oil lamp burning,

exchanging sadness and salt crusted kisses.

The weather could not get us,

save tiny gusts past rusted nails.

Rain drives in on the shoreline,

a single gull,

hovering,

fighting the wind.

I strike a match,

cup my hand,

burn down our memory.

I am waiting,

was always waiting,

for you.

Shelleyisms

Cynacism a draft best taken alone

Don't ask me
where does she get this shit?



I am ducking under the cut and thrust
a question poised on tip of tongue
falls unspoken into a surprised lap of the gods

And Shelley has the where with all
to label me hypocrite

She lashes left and right
striking unprotected flesh

I cannot protect myself from a reflection
the way she mirrors my disaffections

What a retarded conversation

she hammers home her point
a six inch nail straight through
the curve of my skull
and its not the content of her arguement
but more the way
it loops around itself
a serpent consuming its own tail
leaving no room for dissent

I don't buy it

No, and neither do I

Where Shelly Lives

<>
Where Shelly lives
I cannot go

If I enter her abode
I am caught

Underpants drape portable phone

Fluoro pink lip-gloss
pressed deep into carpet weave

Tattered posters of slim male dream boys
hang askew
bluetac smears peeping beneath gloss paper wrinkles

A power board sits beneath a dripping tipped glass
the water striking plastic
and flowing off the side
missing the tine holes by nanomillimeters

The ipod sits on a pile of mags
the wire poking rude from stripped plastic sheath

A graveyard to consumerism
a testament to the accumulation

of stuff

I close the door
for if I enter
her abode
I am caught

The Shelly Diaries Continued

There are moments


in between storm fronts sweeping through
before the shit hits
and all pretence is lost

when she smiles and says something
succinctly insightful

Or when she reads my mind
and articulates exactly my thought

We ride the same fucking pony
clopping along cobblestone roads
where the whole world bows down
and offers required obeisance

at times

I’ve nailed shut all the windows
and double locked the doors

and yet she can still seep in

The Shelly Diaries

Shelly waves us away like gnats


"you have no concept
or if you do
its tainted"
she expresses airily
flying around the TV cabinet
a moth without flame to seek


We assemble
or reassemble from total rout
and suggest parley

Shelly explodes without preamble
large chunks of derision
spattering the new couch
dripping from the cat
smeared on the newly polished floorboards

We wipe it away as best we can
with hands tied behind backs
with mouths of grim determination

We assemble
or reassemble
and seek terms

Shelley leaves us in her wake

a foaming trail
swirling down the hallway
to places we never wanted to go.

Its morning right?

The frost in snapping
the crunch
echoes like a bite of peanut brittle
shattering in teeth


I like the inhale
the sting of cold in the back of my throat
sharp and jolting
a frozen air shot of awake

My hands quickly pink
the tips of fingers
sunsetting shades
and throbbing

The backward arse country fuckers next door
have fired up the four wheel drive
the wash of deisel
surging over the fence
to drown me in fumes and grey

The door handle on the car
is iced and slick

Starting this day
as every other one begins
a ritual of repeated motions
requiring movement without thought.

Input advantageous but not essential

And thats the kicker isnt it?

These things
this myriad of small activities
we ply through
each one essential
to the sequencial construction
of a day
each one
a tread on the stairs
a rung in the
well....
you get the idea

We play out the part
walk the distances
open and close the obvious

meet and greet
breathe
move feet

and it can all happen
with mind in absentia
sifting through
yesterdays conversation
reassembling the lines spoken
to bring about a different outcome

Just an example
we are free
of the constraints of thought in daily
discourse
a little spark of us
offered here and there of course
but overall

free

I'm thinking of the way
we might reflect in the eyes of strangers
as we pass

I'm dreaming jasmine scented waters
steaming around my nakedness

I'm driving into tomorrow
renewed from today

and

its morning right?

because
truth to tell

I lost track....

Revisited.

Long Days.

On long days

she felt the presence of ghosts

in every room.

She would recite poems

the lilt of her litany

pushing back shadows.

Hands

on automatic

completing chores

without her mind engaged.

Self esteem

carefully wrapped

in rose scented paper

tied with dried stems.

The sun would glide

to its zenith

to the sound of poems

and the tingle

of hovering ghosts

waiting patiently for her.

Sometimes

she stole time

sat with knees

cat curled beneath her

in the garden

sipping tea.

There,

the spectres could not find her

her face would turn

open flower to the sun

letting the light suffuse her.

Later

she would go inside

and try to unwrap

rose scented paper

held with dried stems.

There are secret rivers flowing through my house

There are secret rivers flowing through my house

The sound of the rushing
comes to me
padding
footsteps in the hall
late at night

Whispers
mist around us
coil and writhe
to rise
against the cornice
to swirl down
obscuring naked bulbs
in hush

The flotsam
of wild tides
pinking tampons
floating
on the still waters
of the toilet bowl

And later
when it is not relevant

weeks past the flood tides crisis


I am told
in bed
late at night
as
the whispers
coil and writhe
around us

how my child
has joined the ebb and flow

Given to Artemis
and the wild hunt