Your eyes are a fucking hologram
I look straight in
through glass
the ice
the curve of sol
as she rises upon a stilled sea
And you are a billion miles hence
not even seeing me.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Explorations of self.
Drab
seeps into bones
a grey blood infusion
giving the street scape the illusion
of grainy black on white depth
Life becomes
a dog-eared photograph
pinched smile
and rumpled disposition
faces blurring
slurred days.
Every direction
stretches away into mumbled contrition's
a complex series of retreats
littering pathways with
slow burning wreckage of
smoldering oily black disappointment
Our mantra of self empowerment
Take hold
a grip of steely resolve
clenching tight around refusal
Submission
is staring at the roof at 3.00am
the sound of sleep
washing over you
but leaving you
cold wet and drowning.
We writhe
to the pulse of us
a spastic dance
to the strains of a single
rhythmic beat
articulating improbabilities
in teeth clenched terrors
Curl fetal
around the nut hardened kernel
of self
A stripped bare sun
cinders and ashen faced
Yin and Yang
the unity of opposites
rests uneasy within
the warmth of seeking flesh
An orb of understanding
pressed close
beyond reach
We have seen
the truth
how it hooks into flesh
and tears apart carefully
layered opalescent nacre
A shell of self
wrapped around wounds
we tried to hide.
seeps into bones
a grey blood infusion
giving the street scape the illusion
of grainy black on white depth
Life becomes
a dog-eared photograph
pinched smile
and rumpled disposition
faces blurring
slurred days.
Every direction
stretches away into mumbled contrition's
a complex series of retreats
littering pathways with
slow burning wreckage of
smoldering oily black disappointment
Our mantra of self empowerment
Take hold
a grip of steely resolve
clenching tight around refusal
Submission
is staring at the roof at 3.00am
the sound of sleep
washing over you
but leaving you
cold wet and drowning.
We writhe
to the pulse of us
a spastic dance
to the strains of a single
rhythmic beat
articulating improbabilities
in teeth clenched terrors
Curl fetal
around the nut hardened kernel
of self
A stripped bare sun
cinders and ashen faced
Yin and Yang
the unity of opposites
rests uneasy within
the warmth of seeking flesh
An orb of understanding
pressed close
beyond reach
We have seen
the truth
how it hooks into flesh
and tears apart carefully
layered opalescent nacre
A shell of self
wrapped around wounds
we tried to hide.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
Song
You were the burgeoning song
of a sea dream
barely seen
a silk screen
firing mystery and insistence
like a laser beam
I was chance
a romance
dancing just out of reach
lost in the blurred recollection
of a backward glance
Too bad
we were undone
a matter unresolved
a story finished
before it begun
a song
clearly heard
but
not yet sung
of a sea dream
barely seen
a silk screen
firing mystery and insistence
like a laser beam
I was chance
a romance
dancing just out of reach
lost in the blurred recollection
of a backward glance
Too bad
we were undone
a matter unresolved
a story finished
before it begun
a song
clearly heard
but
not yet sung
No rain
but the fog clings like
uncomfortable memories
Vague
the shape of my life
looming from threaded white on white
You cannot see me,
I know,
disengaged
as I am
a figurine
left unattended in a wild
garden
lichen and creeper
slick upon my marbled skin
Tread lightly
when you come to plant and
weed
lest I am forgotton
beneath
renewal.
but the fog clings like
uncomfortable memories
Vague
the shape of my life
looming from threaded white on white
You cannot see me,
I know,
disengaged
as I am
a figurine
left unattended in a wild
garden
lichen and creeper
slick upon my marbled skin
Tread lightly
when you come to plant and
weed
lest I am forgotton
beneath
renewal.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
A moment of perceived connection
We are all careless Maestro's
Weaving word baton's
an enchanters wand
leaving sparkle trails
in semi circle swirls
on the air.
United in deed and intent
we bend the vagaries of human endeavor
into manageable bites
small morsels of frailty
swallowed carefully
by a tentative throats contraction
We watch
as the earth is flayed
her raw wounds
seeping and exposed
and write of her demise
followed inevitably
by our own
We watch
as the city
eats another child
the crunch of bone
shudders through streets
across the paint peeling fences
deep into boxy lounge rooms
where plasma tv's
rage upon the wall
the blare
unable to drown out the sound
You have shown me the clouds
the poverty of isolation
through the clarity of resolve
and what it is to be free.
I have shown you failings and fantasy
glorious and tawdry
and how beneath the missteps
there is the light tread of song still
tapping out its untarnished shine.
And together
we watch.
Weaving word baton's
an enchanters wand
leaving sparkle trails
in semi circle swirls
on the air.
United in deed and intent
we bend the vagaries of human endeavor
into manageable bites
small morsels of frailty
swallowed carefully
by a tentative throats contraction
We watch
as the earth is flayed
her raw wounds
seeping and exposed
and write of her demise
followed inevitably
by our own
We watch
as the city
eats another child
the crunch of bone
shudders through streets
across the paint peeling fences
deep into boxy lounge rooms
where plasma tv's
rage upon the wall
the blare
unable to drown out the sound
You have shown me the clouds
the poverty of isolation
through the clarity of resolve
and what it is to be free.
I have shown you failings and fantasy
glorious and tawdry
and how beneath the missteps
there is the light tread of song still
tapping out its untarnished shine.
And together
we watch.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Isolation
Liquid glitters
and winks
with diamond light
jock-o-lanterns
waving and urging
us on.
Black water call
deep in bones
where marrow
sucks and flows
the ache
beyond inadequate descriptives
of cold and frozen
Shed outer garments crisp
with frost
self conscious murmurs
echo from the too sharp
colour of a grassy bank.
Skin dimples
and retracts
stretching tight
on bone framed
shock
We dive
the disruption
a perfect symmetry
stroking together
alone.
and winks
with diamond light
jock-o-lanterns
waving and urging
us on.
Black water call
deep in bones
where marrow
sucks and flows
the ache
beyond inadequate descriptives
of cold and frozen
Shed outer garments crisp
with frost
self conscious murmurs
echo from the too sharp
colour of a grassy bank.
Skin dimples
and retracts
stretching tight
on bone framed
shock
We dive
the disruption
a perfect symmetry
stroking together
alone.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Un
Reed thin the Asian chick behind the counter always offers a smile.
Not required for the price of a coffee, she gives it guilelessly
an accented "Have a nice day" flutes through my bleary eyes,
maybe bringing a hint of humanity, or maybe its the coffee.
But my blood thrums finally instead of oozing like a syrup and I
can lift my head high enough to take in surroundings.
Never look closely at the foot path, it does not fair well beneath
the constant repression of feet, blood and semen has seeped into
the cracks between pavers, mingling with discarded paper and plastic
wrappings, till my feet glide over pulped disappointments.
Its early, obviously, and the traffic is belching a miasma of mixed
petrol and gas emissions, a grey cloud unlike the fogs I once feared,
how they would not part no matter how hard I begged.
Fog is Gods assassin, all creatures within its depths have many teeth
and they always sought my flesh. The taste is metallic, alien entities
striding just out of vision, probing cattle and thousands of humans for
endless years, although what did the Simpsons episode say?, you can only learn so much
from anal probing.
Horns blare, first one , then several as merry travelers join in the song, the subtle
refrain just beneath the surface " i hate you, your making me late" echoed with
"No, I hate you more, you are blaming me for not moving quickly enough but I found out
this morning Helen miscarried again, thats three in a row, and she is weeping while she sleeps,
the bank will not give me more time to catch up on the mortgage, and fuck knows when or
if Helen will be able to work again soon, Ricky needs braces and thats five grand I don't have,
to be honest, I have never had, and it all seems to crush the sides of my skull, just that constant push against the bone"
They move along finally, horns becoming more strident, car horns bleat violence in sound.
My face is a raft, adrift on my head, becalmed by time, it does not billow or fill with wind for now,
how is it between 35 and 55 we do not change? Our bodies, our faces, our skin, all enters a time warp, fixed in one design, we can walk 20 years with no improvement, or disintegration, just stasis.
If you asked, do I like the city? I would have to say no, I was always one for trees and dreams and river and rock, but truthfully, the city wants and needs the likes of me, to track its path, to note its history, to see the beauty in all its horror, to see evil and how it balances a smile with your coffee
Morning walks slower than the rest, its feet are heavier, leaden, trying to shrug away the pall of grey light and allow brighter things to come. Morning tastes different, it is toast and juice and muesli flakes, it is wet air and freshly washed hair, it is hurried conversations, sorting details in moments, planning days in seconds.
Morning offers another chance, sometimes.
Not required for the price of a coffee, she gives it guilelessly
an accented "Have a nice day" flutes through my bleary eyes,
maybe bringing a hint of humanity, or maybe its the coffee.
But my blood thrums finally instead of oozing like a syrup and I
can lift my head high enough to take in surroundings.
Never look closely at the foot path, it does not fair well beneath
the constant repression of feet, blood and semen has seeped into
the cracks between pavers, mingling with discarded paper and plastic
wrappings, till my feet glide over pulped disappointments.
Its early, obviously, and the traffic is belching a miasma of mixed
petrol and gas emissions, a grey cloud unlike the fogs I once feared,
how they would not part no matter how hard I begged.
Fog is Gods assassin, all creatures within its depths have many teeth
and they always sought my flesh. The taste is metallic, alien entities
striding just out of vision, probing cattle and thousands of humans for
endless years, although what did the Simpsons episode say?, you can only learn so much
from anal probing.
Horns blare, first one , then several as merry travelers join in the song, the subtle
refrain just beneath the surface " i hate you, your making me late" echoed with
"No, I hate you more, you are blaming me for not moving quickly enough but I found out
this morning Helen miscarried again, thats three in a row, and she is weeping while she sleeps,
the bank will not give me more time to catch up on the mortgage, and fuck knows when or
if Helen will be able to work again soon, Ricky needs braces and thats five grand I don't have,
to be honest, I have never had, and it all seems to crush the sides of my skull, just that constant push against the bone"
They move along finally, horns becoming more strident, car horns bleat violence in sound.
My face is a raft, adrift on my head, becalmed by time, it does not billow or fill with wind for now,
how is it between 35 and 55 we do not change? Our bodies, our faces, our skin, all enters a time warp, fixed in one design, we can walk 20 years with no improvement, or disintegration, just stasis.
If you asked, do I like the city? I would have to say no, I was always one for trees and dreams and river and rock, but truthfully, the city wants and needs the likes of me, to track its path, to note its history, to see the beauty in all its horror, to see evil and how it balances a smile with your coffee
Morning walks slower than the rest, its feet are heavier, leaden, trying to shrug away the pall of grey light and allow brighter things to come. Morning tastes different, it is toast and juice and muesli flakes, it is wet air and freshly washed hair, it is hurried conversations, sorting details in moments, planning days in seconds.
Morning offers another chance, sometimes.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Untitled
Rich slurps as he
extols the virtues of
Neruda around
a sharp Merlot tang
breathing pavlova
and too many reds
down the plunge
of your gown
I make watching
a virtue
replacing
apparent indifference
small smile
vague nod
along a wire thin
throb of conversation
Catching your eye
placing it
on the table before me
trying to stare you down
We dance in and out
amongst
the dirty plates
and smeared glasses
a chicken bone
of contention
lies greasy
on the pristine table cloth
The music
too loud's
across us
an up swell of sound
drawing you
a charcoal impression
onto my napkin
Later
I will bring you
crinkled
out of my pocket
to
kiss your black lips
your smudged eyes.
extols the virtues of
Neruda around
a sharp Merlot tang
breathing pavlova
and too many reds
down the plunge
of your gown
I make watching
a virtue
replacing
apparent indifference
small smile
vague nod
along a wire thin
throb of conversation
Catching your eye
placing it
on the table before me
trying to stare you down
We dance in and out
amongst
the dirty plates
and smeared glasses
a chicken bone
of contention
lies greasy
on the pristine table cloth
The music
too loud's
across us
an up swell of sound
drawing you
a charcoal impression
onto my napkin
Later
I will bring you
crinkled
out of my pocket
to
kiss your black lips
your smudged eyes.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Tears for Rain
I remember when Rain came
Imbued with clarity
Rain fell
a spatter of unexpected
to widen eyes
and
blink away yesterday.
Rain has
diluted me
leaving
a hint of color
in an otherwise
pristine pool
Rain has forsaken
me
a profusion of days
washing away
exposing obscurity
forcing me
to look hard
at who and what
I have become.
Rain offers no respite
no light at the end of the tunnel
no warmth to wrap around
Only the sound
of small feet
dancing across the roof tiles
the dripping
resonance
as a leaf is struck
the driving impetus
of sheeting water
pounding the earth
feeding the soil.
Rain caressed
the upturned faces
each in turn
and left her mark
upon us all
Within the flux
without the flow
I found her
lost her
let her go.
She brought
the shadow storms
or mornings soft refrain
and here
beneath the weeping elm
I waste no
tears for Rain.
Imbued with clarity
Rain fell
a spatter of unexpected
to widen eyes
and
blink away yesterday.
Rain has
diluted me
leaving
a hint of color
in an otherwise
pristine pool
Rain has forsaken
me
a profusion of days
washing away
exposing obscurity
forcing me
to look hard
at who and what
I have become.
Rain offers no respite
no light at the end of the tunnel
no warmth to wrap around
Only the sound
of small feet
dancing across the roof tiles
the dripping
resonance
as a leaf is struck
the driving impetus
of sheeting water
pounding the earth
feeding the soil.
Rain caressed
the upturned faces
each in turn
and left her mark
upon us all
Within the flux
without the flow
I found her
lost her
let her go.
She brought
the shadow storms
or mornings soft refrain
and here
beneath the weeping elm
I waste no
tears for Rain.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
No Title
Her hands
weighted steal
hanging
limp and pendulous.
She would swing them at
ghosts
watching the wraiths dissipate
in the passage of her arms.
Oft times
in bed
she could lay them on her breast
allowing the weight
to push her down
through the weave
of mothers
hand woven coverlet
into the cool sheets
and through to the sprung matress
beneath
The coils biting skin
hooking and holding
as she passed
Upon the worn floor boards
the ridged timber surface
scarred and creased
she would come to rest
under the bed
where ghosts
did not wander
or watch her
their pale accusations
their spectral fingers pointed
their screams of soundless blame
Her hands
butterflies
winging above her eyes
the soft rustle
a comfort
a calling
a sense of falling away
The floor boards
refused to support
any longer
and she hoped
the butterflies
could hold her.
weighted steal
hanging
limp and pendulous.
She would swing them at
ghosts
watching the wraiths dissipate
in the passage of her arms.
Oft times
in bed
she could lay them on her breast
allowing the weight
to push her down
through the weave
of mothers
hand woven coverlet
into the cool sheets
and through to the sprung matress
beneath
The coils biting skin
hooking and holding
as she passed
Upon the worn floor boards
the ridged timber surface
scarred and creased
she would come to rest
under the bed
where ghosts
did not wander
or watch her
their pale accusations
their spectral fingers pointed
their screams of soundless blame
Her hands
butterflies
winging above her eyes
the soft rustle
a comfort
a calling
a sense of falling away
The floor boards
refused to support
any longer
and she hoped
the butterflies
could hold her.
No,
not sleeping,
dying.
A shade of blue
deeper than violent.
I don't do gasping
pallid beached fish
flopping on the carpet.
The biggest loser flickers
wobbling bulging
wanna be’s
sweating across
the big screen
above me.
My stretched O mouth
mistaken for an extended yawn
post orgasmic languid
or post porn.
My hands
splayed just so
going for a
righteous Christ
TV hand control
a rusting nail
driven through my palm.
I’ve fallen on the abcrunch
enhance-your-sex
abdominal-crushing
you know your girl
will be blushing
stomach tightening
$21.95 a month
plus postage
slick chrome and black
mechanical torture device
has pierced my side
nicely
neatly
bleeding sweetly
staining the worn weave
of our history.
And when you arise
in a russet morning
stab of light
bring
resurrection
stained into your
seamless skin
a tattooed oath
of timeless gospel
raving
salvation
while you lullaby
my sex
with deft fingers
stroking
mouth evoking life
from flesh gone cold.
No
not sleeping
dying…
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Fuck a world that continues to take a tax of humanity
Even though
or perhaps
because
all the pieces were falling into place
I still jigsawed across the table top
a scattering
of disjoint
Grey smoke vines
coil from nostrils flared
as the bite of cold coming air
takes hold
and curls the thin threads
around my skull in an aura
a miasma
a warning
Jen is dying
I
found out yesterday
somehow
the way you say it
makes it matter of fact
Like the tap is leaking
Jen is dying
kinda rolls off the tongue
and drools across the floor
to plop against my bare toes
If I step forward
her demise will be a warm wet
feeling beneath me
and I know
my feet will never dry
Fuck a world that continues to take a tax of humanity
from me
its not as if
I have hoards of people
secreted in banks
internet or otherwise
I pay and pay
and still
there is a bill there at the end of each quarter.
Jen wasn't
goddamn past tense
isn't
my favorite person
hardly the point
She is/was
however
a point of reference
if you read the road map of me
you will clearly see her
marked in red on the way
a place of interest
a rest stop
a motel with three star meals
She will pass within a limited time now
like a cream container
clearly marked with use-by indifference
and if you sniff too closely
the cloying scent of
too late
fills you
fills your eyes
tears you up
takes your breath so you hitch a little
seeking air clear
of deaths otherness
Jen was
something concrete
I stood upon
till now
without getting my feet wet.
or perhaps
because
all the pieces were falling into place
I still jigsawed across the table top
a scattering
of disjoint
Grey smoke vines
coil from nostrils flared
as the bite of cold coming air
takes hold
and curls the thin threads
around my skull in an aura
a miasma
a warning
Jen is dying
I
found out yesterday
somehow
the way you say it
makes it matter of fact
Like the tap is leaking
Jen is dying
kinda rolls off the tongue
and drools across the floor
to plop against my bare toes
If I step forward
her demise will be a warm wet
feeling beneath me
and I know
my feet will never dry
Fuck a world that continues to take a tax of humanity
from me
its not as if
I have hoards of people
secreted in banks
internet or otherwise
I pay and pay
and still
there is a bill there at the end of each quarter.
Jen wasn't
goddamn past tense
isn't
my favorite person
hardly the point
She is/was
however
a point of reference
if you read the road map of me
you will clearly see her
marked in red on the way
a place of interest
a rest stop
a motel with three star meals
She will pass within a limited time now
like a cream container
clearly marked with use-by indifference
and if you sniff too closely
the cloying scent of
too late
fills you
fills your eyes
tears you up
takes your breath so you hitch a little
seeking air clear
of deaths otherness
Jen was
something concrete
I stood upon
till now
without getting my feet wet.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Untitled.
Memories
Come sliding through the glass doors
at midnight
a mist of complexities
weaving wraiths and ghosts
Pale against heavy drapes
a lightless parade
figures haloed with scent
and sound.
I rise to greet an unborn child
his wild unformed fingers
reaching for an embrace
left behind on a wet August night
twelve years ago.
I hug air
whisper kiss his never brow
and tell him how I loved him
love him still
Fierce and strong my hold
on his imagined weight
the new born smell
I know so well
fills senses
He is real
as real as his sister
that never was
She waits her turn
large eyes
bright pin points of promise
blending into the glow of standby lights
on computer towers.
Together they question time
why it never allowed them to join the flow
why they are caught as a moment
come and gone
I try to explain
loss
and how it wakes their mother
brings tears
a silver glisten
in the moons pale revelations
They are mine tonight
to seek
to speak to
Their mother
rests peaceful
on the bed where they were made
her rise fall released breath
enveloping them
They leave me
as they left me so long ago
go to her
seep into her
to become tearsa silver glisten
in the moons pale revelations.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Untitled.
The piano will play us
one key at a time
Black white contrasting notes
of impossibility
drifting out across open
second story
untold stories.
I have given
very little
so many times
The distant winter song
of snow deep isolations
and how your foot prints
are erased each night beneath
the numbing blanket of tomorrow’s
fresh fall.
I'm checking the bathroom mirror
for signs of your breath
I'm checking my skin
for signs of your caress
how you mark me
indelible
but ultimately
invisible
The piano plays you
a concerto rising on the escaping
heat of today
bleeding into the welcoming embrace
of another crisp empty
Hearing you
is not the same as contact
but I will reach beyond
the length of my bare arms
past the stretch of fingertips
seeking without sight
touch without skin
Till
we become
a remembered chord
of a forgotten strain
running together
to hum and harmonise.
one key at a time
Black white contrasting notes
of impossibility
drifting out across open
second story
untold stories.
I have given
very little
so many times
The distant winter song
of snow deep isolations
and how your foot prints
are erased each night beneath
the numbing blanket of tomorrow’s
fresh fall.
I'm checking the bathroom mirror
for signs of your breath
I'm checking my skin
for signs of your caress
how you mark me
indelible
but ultimately
invisible
The piano plays you
a concerto rising on the escaping
heat of today
bleeding into the welcoming embrace
of another crisp empty
Hearing you
is not the same as contact
but I will reach beyond
the length of my bare arms
past the stretch of fingertips
seeking without sight
touch without skin
Till
we become
a remembered chord
of a forgotten strain
running together
to hum and harmonise.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Untitled
There is
nowhere to run
Each direction seeks blood sacrifice
dipped in
atonement for sins
real and imagined
My sec tells me
she has never seen me staring at nothing
before
but she has just never noticed
how unfocused I have become
my eyes roam from the white painted blocks
to the grey of everything else.
The paperwork
gathers
a neatly typed storm
shot through with gloom
and rain laden portents
the pages heavy with distinct requirements
I'm writing poetry
to stave off the ghosts and ghouls
for here
within the bright womb of words
the clammering is made still
and I can just barely
hear me in the distance
calling like Heathcliffe
a voice
lost on the moors
You cannot reach me
my Catherine
frock billowing in
the buffeting wind
which swirls around us
I know you try
but the patterns are already
at a stage where
to change design
would destroy the whole
and it just cannot be undone
as we might wish
I do see you
but as an inanimate object
another beautiful item
to grace this tired world
As your imploring
sails past my becalmed
impassive resignation
I wave
because we were so glorious
carving the ocean
a blade of perfect narrow
perception
honed to gleam beneath the sun
nowhere to run
Each direction seeks blood sacrifice
dipped in
atonement for sins
real and imagined
My sec tells me
she has never seen me staring at nothing
before
but she has just never noticed
how unfocused I have become
my eyes roam from the white painted blocks
to the grey of everything else.
The paperwork
gathers
a neatly typed storm
shot through with gloom
and rain laden portents
the pages heavy with distinct requirements
I'm writing poetry
to stave off the ghosts and ghouls
for here
within the bright womb of words
the clammering is made still
and I can just barely
hear me in the distance
calling like Heathcliffe
a voice
lost on the moors
You cannot reach me
my Catherine
frock billowing in
the buffeting wind
which swirls around us
I know you try
but the patterns are already
at a stage where
to change design
would destroy the whole
and it just cannot be undone
as we might wish
I do see you
but as an inanimate object
another beautiful item
to grace this tired world
As your imploring
sails past my becalmed
impassive resignation
I wave
because we were so glorious
carving the ocean
a blade of perfect narrow
perception
honed to gleam beneath the sun
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
I took heart from this
Peter Pan syndrome" is not listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, and is not recognized by the American Psychiatric Association as a mental disorder.
Alas, it then went on to say this
The Peter-Pan psychological type is one characterized by immaturity or certain sorts of psychological, social, and sexual problems. The type of personality in question, usually male, is immature and narcissistic. More completely, according to Kiley, the characteristics of a "Peter-Pan" include such attributes as irresponsibility, rebelliousness, pottering about, anger, narcissism, dependency, manipulativeness, and the belief that he is beyond society's laws and norms.
*sighs*
lol
Alas, it then went on to say this
The Peter-Pan psychological type is one characterized by immaturity or certain sorts of psychological, social, and sexual problems. The type of personality in question, usually male, is immature and narcissistic. More completely, according to Kiley, the characteristics of a "Peter-Pan" include such attributes as irresponsibility, rebelliousness, pottering about, anger, narcissism, dependency, manipulativeness, and the belief that he is beyond society's laws and norms.
*sighs*
lol
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