Evening Smoke

Think­ing slowly while car lights
open up the sway­ing boughs -
& win­dows down -
we breath the dis­tance in.

 

Quiet desit­in­a­tions on low lit porches
listen­ing to the walk­ing voices.
The wind brings our thoughts back in
from where they won­der around
the world from our windows.

 

Thought shad­ows.
Wax and wane as everything stays the same.
We fin­ish in wed­nes­day and
Start again on Monday.

 

I want this moment to
be forever like peel­ing paint.
I want this moment to
be forever like I can feel everything.

 

–New­castle 2010

Post Script — [Brinkworthy]

Then the pen says:

 

Post script
the ava­lanche of wis­dom lifts
to find
the sky.

 

Broken break­fast
believe in beau­ti­ful whims.
Walk­ing around
to find our other skins.

 

Fourt­nights dreamed up
& recalled through wire strings.
These are our beau­ti­ful things.
These are our wings.

 

There will always be
the sky big enough for me
There will always be

 

- New­castle 2010

Cigarette Soliloquy

Smoke rises out of lungs on the tar­ma­ced pave­ments.
caught in the after­noon light.
Breaths of heat.
And tar thickened heart beats.
Sticky metal and con­crete streets.
Some­thing is drip­ping inside you,
every drop falls and an echo
drums itself inside your cells.
Soft skin, cells, joints, a jungle of limbs.
Your bac­terial body, your liv­ing skin
and blood soaked bones.
The organs’ walls are thin.

 

There are more holes in your body
than stars that you will never see.

 

Empty.
Museums. And build­ings and ancient
sis­ters who forever climb the foot­paths together.

 

Repeat everything that you do.
no one will hear you.
Even on sweaty after­noons -
the humid­ity in this coastal city
will trap your voice.
Cluster the pack­ets of noise.
Form­ing a thin film of
indus­tri­ally dam­aged sleet
which burns your tongue and ears and feet.

 

Stand over the bridge you have know
since you were three.
Watch the waste water run to the sea.
Thumb out the thoughts
until they’re numb
thumb out the thougths until
your rest­less need to feel is done.

 

- New­castle 2010

Ocean Baths

Take to the door
all that we ever held
together
we throw the past appart.

 

I found wis­dom
in a flushed out vis­ion.
two mixes
Swirl in the spaces between the girl.

 

tap­ping to keep
in time
nod your head
you won’t fall behind.

 

Swim­ming in the stars
night time baths
dark­ness reach­ing out
we’re not affraid of sharks.

 

- New­castle 2010

Supurban

You are this great sub­urban beauty.
The cul­min­a­tion of such determ­ined
demo­cratic con­ges­tion.
The impossible ascen­sion
to cul­tural digres­sion.
Pro­hib­ited depres­sion and repres­sion
of ances­tral ima­gin­a­tion.
Animal dis­guised diges­tion
of the land envir­on­ment.
With cars roads paths cement.
Map­ping out our chro­mo­somal hab­it­ats.
Carving out of ground – proud, loud with sound
and ideas inher­ited and found -
our ego’s content.

 

–New­castle 2010

Eye Preserve

Broken con­crete paths patched with tar­mac
to stop wheel­chaired court­cases.
Alu­minium win­dow frames
wear­ing down by beach grains.

 

Tangled weed drive ways

sub­urban engines beside indus­trial roads
Birds stretched out mid flight
cam­ou­flaged in the grass where they landed life.

 

In memory – vig­or­ous youth
late nights “indi-cult” smoking
Amer­ican hats and motor­cycle boots
of gui­tars and wan­der­lust grunge.

 

Back yards and bed­rooms all shrines
to respect­ive inspir­a­tions; of naked­ness of
intel­lect and inquiry of men
and women of words and wine.

 

- New­castle 2010

Illuminated

I feel bright.

 

There are no lines, no grav­ity
there is no dark­ness no night.

 

The whole of me is infin­ity
the whole world is made of light.

 

Touch me
I feel bright.

 

Curl up beside me
inside, this warmth hides me.

 

Touch me
I feel bright.

 

- New­castle 2011

Magnetic Minds

thoughts as strings of elec­tronic dis­tance between neur­ons
these syn­aptic stair­ways do not exist
and emo­tions
as cul­min­a­tions of hor­monal migra­ti­ory asso­ci­ation through
the blood­stream do not exist either.
All these things are the gaps between reality.

 

And by real­ity I mean phys­ical being.

 

And by phys­ical being I mean:

that which is con­cen­trated out of energy fields
strong enough to repel each other
So as to cause (the illu­sion) of mass.

 

But pass your hand through your thoughts
and they’ll still keep run­ning.
Move away from your part­ner
and your body will still keep longing.

 

Mag­netic fields are the earths heart strings.

 

- New­castle 2011

NewActon Summer

Sweaty feet in black suede boots –

just                   undo!

-          So easy to

slip on and off now they come with zips!

 

Type writer t-shirt walks passed things hidden

and for­got­ten. I hide -

under dirty­ing flesh-coloured rub­ber bandages

-          my infec­ted skin,

embar­rassed that I am vul­ner­able to these things.

 

I watch street artists, sexy in their suave skinny ways,

breath out        compressed-pressure-scenes of

sur­real mon­sters and con­ges­ted city sites.

 

I want

to spray paint                cloud    scapes

in alley ways

so we can slip behind façades and remember

warm beer sum­mer blaze.

 

But if you wanna be cool these days – that’s just not how it’s done.

And I see that ugly can be fun.

But I want to be in

Col­ours

when I cum.

 

I close my eyes, made of broken beach glass bottles

while all of my female friends are

fall­ing

in love

with each other.

Smelling – in the late warm weather lung –

the per­fume of each oth­ers’ pollen.

Intox­ic­ated

with the slow bloom of bul­bed flowers

just to press thighs and lips against petals.

 

And I dream of skies.

- Can­berra 2012

Limestone Beat

I fall head – over – heels – over -

heart – over – feet, into con­crete path.

Ped­dling, ped­dling, ped­dling hard

to watch, and wish, catch the breath

of sun­set bliss

above sub­urban fence and grass.

 

Caught lungs and heart

in teeth, as over bump-thump,

the bike rides the Lime­stone beat.

 

I cycle sky­wards down this

gloam­ing winter street.

 

- Can­berra 2012