2020

girl school 1

not fundamental nor’s it fine
there’s no heading
back i don’t know why
spring clouds render
unto songs
her pang unspooled
mayhap your devices
holding my lungs
taking my blood pill?
still the clouds
slammed there was abject air to
go home soon, to sleeping wings
finishing all through cells
cosine’d conch forbear a touch
spilling moonlight
water through my neck
his fold of feathers
engendered dying quiet,
my fingers showed us
we’re no wreck.


girl school 2

i skipped new years eve
with candle motel’s timing.

propaganda made me know
propaganda grew me slow.

it’s cold i have my coffee blouse
smoke trees
glassily arrange an effigy of sound.
lines on my work to do
time for time we’re sure.













mental


Hearing a ticking, the clock’s blown.
Jesus’ blank face split the world
Because he sang the punctures

Helium horned child

He knows, but
Not about coincidences
Nor him, nor what I like.
Old faces true like lamplights or a summer song
And rolling up wrong
Honey
I love you
Honey I just can’t smile
Honey give me a smile 

But you can’t be Kathy Acker
my world’s a pigeon cage
I wish I came of age.
By the train line
there’s a mess
it is a palimpsest.
I can’t walk the
friendly doom
since goblin clouds
in sweets café.
Some horrible talk
after which
I went
for a walk.

Immortal minute, fixed on this green cup,
Don’t let its moonlike waning shock us now.

The wine flowed for seventy seconds
The clock absent
During which I caught that my lungs were still
inflated
and with no heartbeat sat in a puddle
or three days
I talked to the blooding
big moon bare
barrow

The world dissolved
in the morning
in Ballarat.
summer song drawing
in your light room
through the window as you are
to the beach walk
from your room
the way you move me in descant.
I’ve seen you in the mirror
to let one know
though their fir tree had a chainsaw mouth
and I heard it gutter on the ceiling
I crawled out and stood
back to the garden by this moon for laughing

two beings like me will exist, myself, and a jesus object - dialogue with a being woven of text with no insides
soft train when they are fixing hair.
“You have to put in time and practise”
club lights + face illumination “when I finally get inside”
the notes themselves


Guided meditation

Cleaned for leaving
As if embroidering a veil
And slowly making new -
Lit oils to consume what’s dull,
Carved a crane into a candle,
Spilled the green man’s spit on keys,
Used my inks,
Shoved things in caskets,
Bought a doll,
Stacked my books.

Walls papered with fragments
Futile leaves wait for our time
Winter settles my nerves when it’s needed
Some things are needed
Some still their calm, a chalice.

Poems from harrowed months of acid sorrow
when we come back to flowering times – let’s share new ones
Your songs were bright worms in memory’s cave
I could be a bird, or a dogwood tree