Friday, December 31, 2010


Grey spills traced back and pinned
high on a bark collage. Janet gave me that,
and a lettuce of mulberry nudes from an evening class. Paperclip
bellies for the kids who have gone. Pumpkin seed
roads winding into a grove of feathers. A Bicentenary
transfer scraped from a windscreen, faded
to gossamer. I hardly see
Captain Cook commanding the sailor to stop
firing on the natives. Drawn back from an instinct
to chuck out the lot,
Janet piled-up the cardboard boxes
in the carport and let us rummage through.
A card missing a deck winked up and down: a time killer
for a Sunday drive up north.
The blankets that smelt like milk
and the exercise book with one letter in it.
I took some of it home and ordered it
across the rug. And if you looked
long enough… Tomorrow, I’ll chuck it out.

Shining Throne Sutra

I’m playing games with the humidity
guessing the size of the kitchen cabinets
drowsing by a kite on the football field
pasting diets on my backyard fence

shining thrones for the mystery play
working-off a hangover by classifying socks
disorienting bats by clapping my hands
increasing my output for diminishing returns

flouting the rules for long-period events
feeling nauseous on a beach in Cancun
lambasting clowns at my niece’s day-care
earthing the static in your new corduroys

celebrating crosshairs over laser-lock sights
making a dog’s breakfast of my first drama class
writing 'buff' when I mean 'suspension'
responding to condolences with your marriage-list stationery

eating plum dates and regretting the cheese
crying at jazz tunes in peak hour traffic
re-evaluating the effects of a long awaited launch
tying up prospects with my probing questions

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Collector

you claimed you would soon become
my household god. But you refused to talk. I took your arm
and handcuffed you to the bed.

You said you’d wear it forever.

The Van Line Convention

let’s face it the mouth is the apricots of Marbella and the sky well the sky shrinks to an edible ball on this point being perhaps the Guatemalan in the next booth señor pack-mule gargles oil in prison these are the rubs Professoressa Testarossa the Yorktown Porker we would not want to at this time so kindly Brian told him a prissy story one of his best at the ninth we were just not swinging like the ladies in the French garden a shrubbery fleur de lys Bernard says romantic poetry is just the adjectives black for compensation or misty for the ceiling fan looking down oh please c’mon he’s just brown-nosing it with god it was a mistake we were invited to something must have gone wrong you mean the president’s club? pissed I mean it makes me cry every time I see my children on the big island with the little one on the dolphin’s tail we invited Sophia to unveil it in the driveway when the pool wasn’t finished but invented the colour schemes for electronics a doughnut hole bigger than a doughnut endeared to underwriters kissing on the rooftop scampi beneath a layer of rucola glazed strip steaks coruscated with a pod of fingerlings and for real we’re only human let’s not confuse love with today and all afternoon at the beach we grew closer I know our small talk now as evening spreads it cannot be no never again

Monday, December 20, 2010

DM 1958-2010

Debra is dead,

She was already dead
last night.

And last Friday?

If anything,
she is persistent.

And dead.
What is this


Back to rehab!
When tomorrow,

we wake up,
and Debra

is something else.

Saturday, December 04, 2010

Alley Oop

Yesterday, I wrestled with my soul:
it was a slap-down with the Junkyard Dog.
A Samoan drop for Gorgeous George.
A Fireman’s Carry Slam on Doubt.
A Category Error Clothes-Line Leg-Sweep.
A Fallacy Accident Spine-Buster.
A Tag Team of Straw Men.
A Caged Murder of False Dilemmas.
A Pump-handle Drop Argument from

The Rome Poems

Rome 1a

Middle of the evening, 2008. Piazza Navone. An Irish student asks the street musician if he could play along with his desk. He brings out an old primary school desk and bashes along.

Rome 1b

Middle of the day, 2008. Walked into the Hotel d'Inghilterra to have a look. Went into the Japanese Bar and saw an old English man in the library. He was all dressed up and drinking scotch. He smiled at me and said’ “It’s Tarzan.”

Johnny Weissmuller was on the flat screen.

Rome 2a

Dream, 2009. Space, 7010. We found an abandoned Space Station. It was frozen. We found a drop of frozen sperm in the glacial toilet facility. The space station was from 2010. I thought about Jurassic Park.

Rome 2b

Dream, 2008. The Charles River, 2007. I was at the business school, or at the old family home. I’ve never had an old family home. A case study was in progress. It was called The Life Machine. You fed in various inputs like Cornetto wrappers or some spare change, and whatever comes out will be due on 08 July. I caught the frizzbie to the library with two other passengers. We were followed by tracer frizzbies. I felt bad that I was late in starting the case study.

Rome 2c

Afternoon, 2010. I asked my wife what makes a woman happy…

Dinner at Buci's

Tree-frog soup with lentils
Followed by an alping of Haagen Dazs.

At first sight, you never
Like the place you eventually
Come to love.

Quintuple A chitterling
Pan fried with Dijon mustard
And fries. Guts
And chips.

She had big hair
As opposed to
Long hair.

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