Anthing else

Tell tale solace, grave incidental managings

trouble consolvent ambiance – too much interest

solid-state graphic dire-nothings

Understated deaths crawling on dismembered artifice

Surely it’s ok to…

negate the darkness – sold on turnpike intrusions,

illusionary memorandums steal our resolution like

Moth-seraphs driven to vexed rage by the lies of a thousand

Incidental men

Should have known what it’s for, understanding carpal vision,

wistful rain relentless peeking droplets -

ceaseless fucking humming grinding out the insides

like a potter on his mill grinds ivory to dust.

This and other oblivions chose you this time round,

share your no this time round,

seem big front carapace comes crackling down

stiff front ended gin-sipping dandies –

hang em by their neckerchiefs

Divinal devotion – don’t think you’ll do it –

Grab the twisted and wrench

Because waiting out the nights raging in-eloquence will

be the very ending you desire from all your craving stories,

whilst out in the hill and trees the familial ties you bind

scrape one another to a new canvas meandering.

Push my eyes out with tomorrow’s remembering,

the filth of arbitrary decadence removes itself again-

amazing in the sparkling morning revisionism we never

slept held drug plagued licked each others darker places…

Thought to let you feel all though I fall you’ll be my side

this grave-yard gaming – flash-bang naughtiness and sultry

night time forget-me-not ground into a juice we can paint

ourselves out of this corner and be once again

You and tiny minds

Me and every day

Near your gift red-treasure curses grab my time

fling my fortune to the wind, go fret on sunken eras

when all the care you have is ashed in a box in some rainy time you

might never want to visit if the waxen seal is broken don’t venture out

for fear of the rain’s dark fluency

Who you’ve done is no concern of mine –

our parents are destined not to know us as your writing made out,

so I’ll keep a gift from them so they have less painful answers to wrap their arms round at night and press a button to down more forgetful concoctions.

Keep my armistice to myself lest my peace seep into yours

and I be dragged into this bliss you call your anniversarial connivance –

Did you emerge from some dark filmic shadow deep with noir and deco niceties gasping at the purpleplague you spread from someone else?

Did you cry when you knew? How did they announce that inevitable breathing cessation - it will not be – too much more nothing sadness’ arching grief.

Steal me for just a second to know your absence – make me not the power of aware

dread-filled consciousness,

A sleep less troubled by your leaving,

A world less gaping in your heaving destruction

A world less hollowed by your deficiency

A world less me than anything else

poems for girls always end...

you here with me
the sky’s tendency to open up
at vacuum inopportunities
growl past glaring tired reflections,
streams on bitumen
eyes off glass
today’s indiscretion oft repeated
in some esoteric penumbra
too ready to move our
servitude to eloquence
than rather sense the completeness
of Foucault in the morning,
Bathes over coffee and the
entire Fallacy drifting along the
Coogee piercing salt-bath
like our spatterings were made
share themselves with others
green goes red once more and
we seek solace in a day we call
yesterday, tomorrow’s horizon too
tumultuous to explain as we
need protections from all your armours
in that dark suit of gold you
dazzled me with once.
I want to echo round your
halls like the thoughts we sent
groggy into the hazy
morning’s stars so we can sleep
a little longer than needed to
truly start the day without
one last consumption –
scared to believe, scared to need
the last spanner’s twist to finally
breathe that last machine into me,
clockwork absolutions and simulated
cries retch out
stay you
neat horizons arch through
city sights to picture-mark those
post-card moments until you need not
apply your vaunted beyond compliance
to this depth and perspiration.
Equivocate to knocking on the southern
door to drab dreaming servitude.
tickle all the dark places
need another night
twist out somnambulance’s distance
ambling coverage
beauty in simplicity
your big brown eyes
turn greener as I slide

inwards, fractured patterns
your look
my gaze
our luck

Elegy 1

Elegia Prima, Anno Aetatis 21

dusty

A poetic sense of memory
just as if you’d be
lighter and less factual if
tonight you lay with me

A dusty nowhere highway
and a running little girl
who peers into the headlights
through a single hanging curl

sparkles

sparkles...
11:46 p.m. :: 2003-10-07

My best friend Kat died on Saturday night. For those of you who didn't know, now you do. For those of you who didn't know her - you missed out. You would've one day heard of her, about her or met her somewhere in the world. Because she sparkled so. Because everywhere she went she carried with her a warmth and a fire that burned so brightly if so desperately short. She will never come back to us, because she has not left. She lives and burns in each of us here today and the thousand people who wondered 'Who was that girl in red?' Whether it was in a tutorial, a performance, a speech, a party, a shoe shop or a quiet cafe made louder by her presence - you felt her everywhere she was. Everywhere she had been. She was our Kat. A thousand tiny facets kept her shimmering everyway you looked at her - like one of her oh so precious diamonte's. And sometimes though we feel like wailing, though there are questions that will never be answered, we know that she's the best dressed angel there is, with pink feather wings and a trail of glitter just her own. We will miss you honey, we will keep going for you, for each other. Because it's what you would want and it's what we will do - she's ours now, to carry round, to fall back on, to laugh with, to cry with. She was our Kat and she sparkled so.