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Together
we could
cut haze out of our eyes
and dance the shadows
of suburban rage

Aching for pain
the cleft palette
of subtle nuance.

Winding awkward tongues
around
words tilting
sideways

Covet sane
the referred
restraint
of disparity
and the way it sits
still and green
as stagnant conversations.

Break
and apart
a hollow sound

Suck it in

There is space
between clamour
and the walls


Just enough room

to glow

Untitled

I am threadbare

light filters through

the worn weave.


Frayed

strands hang exposed

parting.

No patch
seamless
the way mum would sew

shut

the holes.

Untitled.

I was never ready

for the planing of edges

Ruffs of thin timber
slice and curl
caught in the nicked blade

Beneath
only pulp
and white ants reside

Bodies writhe
surge away from light
seething secrets
under good wood

And still
the whine
of the plane
coming closer.

On this day

I place an internet flower
in the endless cybernight

for Pumpkin

Lost in Oz
without red shoes to guide her home.



Born of the Long White Cloud


Left behind
by a man with empty eyes


my she find life and love
with those who would care for her.

Reason to breathe.

There is no separating
contention
the ache of color
and how it hurts
to exhale.


Divesting
ourselves of days
past and present
fall away in shimmering silver
reflections.

We gather agonies
something surreal to wail about
while the tear
caught upon your eyelashes
trembles patiently.

There is never ready
only the right moment
upended upon the table to scatter
in unruly disruptions.

Diving heedless into your weeping

I swim the teardrop
and hope you give me
a reason to breathe.

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She wept days

to be taken

gathered up and returned to her

bereft of anguish


Gratefully

she would accept them

bow in response

and gently put them on the tip

of her tongue


Tomorrow

she will weep days

and wait for the gatherers

to return