Friday, April 22, 2011

Hangover 3

I saw you in the hallway mirror, the way
the sheets broke on your legs
as you swam across the bed.
Submerged in the airless bubble
of intoxication, you breathed noise
like a tern
searching for its mate on the beach.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The Bull

You never die at night.
Here, the river has the sky’s ear.
The snake beneath the rocks
is the hyphen
between your fear and the light.

Rene Char


Plastic casings:
laptop and lunch box;
(clip-ons , cooling fan…)
stretch the carry bag GoreTex,
to a white dimpled ridge.

Monday, April 18, 2011


The lounge room,
an apple
a pot of chamomile.
tearing at
on the cardboard
box, puncture
and bead.

The Higher Tea

The gymnast twists
her ergonomic pen.
The redwood
cupboard sends
a message: recycled
rail sleepers. Paper knots
a dry image
in the pillows’
undergrowth. Picture books
stacked in a Ducati
slide, caterwaul
their Sunday habits: a heavy
thermos of white hot choc-
olate, raisin
toast and marshmallow
flints. A credo like substance
abuse, innate
as fingernails.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


Two pickle
toothpick flags:
one Dutch; one American, planted
in a dog’s turd
on the Prinsengracht, claiming
like the moon or a slice
of the Arctic seabed.
Split empire
of shit. Dividing up
a new world.
Soft and scented
hardening in the sun.

Friday, April 08, 2011

The Lark

The sky’s final ember and the day’s first heat,
It remains crimped in the dawn and sings about the agitated earth,
Carillion-master of its breath and free on its way.

Fascinating, we kill it filled with wonder.

René Char

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