Daddy Love

layla layla layla layla
williamstown, melbourne australia
you are your mummy and daddy’s parts
arms legs eyes face hair hands heart

Balustrade

Balustrade

Are there more fish in the sea or is it all a big lie?

dose me again this balustrade
i cling to is love is a fool
is facade
my eye is danger is cavernous night
is elevation is haunted sight
like the one from the top
of my topple down stairs
hard blood wood pinched short baluster pairs

from this crazy high up i can see
well love,
just the bottom of the stairs
where i’ll be

Death

Write everything you know about dying.

rupture eclipse snapping pain white light
such a glorious sound! such a colourful sight!
i’m jealous. i am. i received my death blow
before you were born—many years ago.

How Can I Hold All These Limes?

Question: How can I hold all these limes?

Word: Flesh wound

When the battle starts my friends, be fast
Hold them off with your shield and your staff
For if I sustain but the smallest flesh wound
I will have to make a saving throw
Or drop these limes to the depths below
Then how will we season our drinks, hmm?
And how will we make pancakes rise?
And exactly how will we add a fruity tang
To our next pad thai, do you surmise?

So, I’m Like, Really?

So, I’m like, really? – Samakaza

Shazam – Angus

Rad

Kissin and fightin

A midnight wind, a fiery street
A mass of twisted chrome, our feet
Our trench coats, gloves and furrowed brows
The heat in our shaking hands, our frowns.

She stands over the cooling corpse
All smoking gun and no remorse,
Inscrutable face all milky white,
Ruby lips all pursed up tight.

“Shazam!” she shouts, “We nailed his ass!”
Seriously? No gravitas?
“Bam!” she shouts, “Shinga linga ding!”
I’m finding this rather embarrassing.

“He’s totes dead now!” She kicks his spine.
A fiery slump punctuates the line.
“Hot diggity dog! Let’s loot his cash!”
I stare unconvinced at a pile of ash.

Crystal Cold Air, Grey Library Carpet

Flickering madly on my screen
There
You
The words you shaped in a place
with different light

I wait at the desk for the door to open
Here
Me
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t
stay my drifting eyes

Your Hands

What were you were thinking
In that dim light?
I wake up in the night sometimes.
To see your hands. Did you know?
Pale, full fingers, always moving,
Drawing pictures on my ceiling.
I look up at them.

Trickles Retreating

Trickles retreating through grooves in park seating.
Petals unsettled by wide crying skies.
Fleeting feet mark out wet footsteps.

You know,

    Except for that pair of lovers there,
    Nobody’s enjoying this cold wet air,
    But their camera’s pulled out and their teeth are bared;
    Their shivering smiles to be captured and shared,
    With loved ones who’ll try in earnest to care.

    And that is all very nice, I suppose,
    But it’s a life that I chose to give up for the road,
    That has led me here to this very wet seat,
    I can sit on and watch my failings repeat.

You Are My Very Favourite Thing

He rushes with her
Hand in his.
With jangling ragged breath,
He leaps up stairs, into fresh daylight.
He turns to her, cheeks on fire,
“Behold! my heart,” (now slowly) “all of this,
And everything else that is mine, is yours!”

He casts his eyes delicately,
At the surrounds of peaceful streets,
Church steeples, nestled in between
Trees, and trees, and distant trees.
The peace in his eyes,
Glints back at the dew and
The smokey colour of the hills.

He turns full circle and back again
To the warmth of her gaze, that never left him.
And silently she says to him, “Love,
You are my very favourite thing,
You are the best this world has in it,
And I can see, the things you see,”
(Now slowly) “All reflected in your eye.
And there, they are everything,
They ever were and could hope to be.”

Stenciled Sugar Brown Hotel Journalism

Use these 10 words: Stenciled. Sugar. Kind. Brown. Woman. Hotel. Tumbled. Change. Momentum. Journalism.

What happened to you
Dear heart? Your life was
Thrown in with the colours
And you pulled the door shut behind you.
After all,

Tumbled was better than being out there.

But how disastrous! How unkind!
The ideas in your pen ran out in the wash.
Your momentum changed, and rearranged
Into chaos and darkness.

When at last, heralded by the helpful chime
Of time being up,
You emerged a woman,
Smaller than you were before.