Motel Two Oh Nine

Florescence flickering unevenly
etching awkward contortions
caught in the flash of relapse
our stop-motion lifelong obsession
conducting us with electrified dust
dry lightening strike
we float in the moment
sustained in suspense
we hold one another aloft
a hymn begins
fumbling for more melodious meanings
scored with sorcerous intent
bewitching us with healing lament
a dirge born from hidden depths
strung upon the lyres of heaven
crying words of angelic dread
this song becomes us as we succumb
with broken hearts and a little death.

Shark Spank


I ate a dozen apples
devouring one after another
until their sweetness turned sharp
stinging in my jowl, my clenched jaw
aching with mechanical motion
like a cow grazing meditatively
I glutted myself with flesh and seed.

I slept all through the week
embracing each day like a pillow
clutched tight to my face
holding back a flood of contrition
reflexive jerk reaction to self-reflection
I padded my cell with layers of slumber
for a soft landing in the sea of dreams.

I burnt all of my blazing currency
flippant in a spiraling frenzy
until the lights blinked out
in one black moment, nothing
contained squarely and photo framed
until I broke my way out and awoke
famished, befuddled and alone.

Kentucky Fried Cassowary


By the side of the river we began to unwind
as we pulled at threads throughout the night
unraveling Revelations
and tearing down shibboleths
we ignited the silence with our backyard science
and explored the cosmos with beer in hand.

“Become who you are” he told me once,
“There are no guarantees.”

Every limb was a story or a shopping list
twisted missives composed in faded ink
we spent another day dissecting lyrics
reading signs buried between the lines
and rejoicing
in the simplest conversation.

Our shared delusions drove us to the edge
and our hidden truths reunited us again
down by the water’s edge
unsteady, drunk with bubbling joy
“Mi casa es su casa” he said,
“Stay as long as you need”.

Hammer & Thresher

Nigel was a writer
he promised me once
deep down in those bitter cups
he told stories about the ocean
and his roving days, now long forsaken
yet recalled in immaculate detail.

He espoused all through those technicolour hours
clouding spent sentiment
with thick river sediment
while scraping barnacles off a bearded hull,
“Fish-scales in the sky, distant and white
a change will be coming our way”.

Until the next morning
he talked himself down
and curled on the couch like a contrary child
stubborn insistence that sleep be resisted
blankets clutched to his trembling chin
and when I rose he had passed like a storm.

Escape & Ambuscade

‘The time is now’ as the clocks unwind
but those days are fallen far behind
lost already in the rear view mirror
and minutes feel like hours and hours
roll into eternity as we make our way
away from the city and from hollow symphony
until that distant brutal hum
is replaced by the cicadas’ relentless drum.

And yet, madness follows you.

A low clouded forest canopy ripples like a deep green lake
brushed by breezes heavily scented with flowering wattle
carrying the hint of distant camp fire and foreign song
gentle chords pulled from wood, wire and loss
while among the patchwork shadows lizards lounge
and lyre birds lull in the straggly scratch bush scrub
myriad littered leaves speckled with white mould
observing orange spirals of fungal spores crawling
along forest floors caterpillar trains intersect
with termite trails and centipede stampedes
and toads hunt frogs stalking lizards chasing fishes
in every clear crystal stream or muddied black creek,
we float in the arboreal sea, suspended in stillness
ancient monumental figs commanding, listening
absorbing sound, muffling the whip-bird’s whistle
and the bower-bird’s cry, the rustling of shuffling of jungle fowl
and our whispered half-thought awe, lost in the colonnade
these towering pillars older than our ancestors’ forebears
recalling the setting of a thousand suns before we spoke
and destined to outlast our farthest steps, our final words
and our last whispered breath.

While the rest of the world breaks down in half life instability
these deep hidden roots endure, grasping and entwining
compressing past and present together
and the canopy is always rising
bearing us, breathing us,
our worthless dust
our verse and lust
our unspoken intent
our eternal trust
the sweet forest gathers our tattered,
scattered and shattered remains,
inexorable and inexhaustible
ever onward toward a heavenly state
that our miserable species never earned
anonymous and disembodied at last
a holy place that we never deserved.

Our city lights are nothing against the myriad fires
of the very future suspended overhead
those shining points of brilliant white
cast across infinity in every direction
we are ash and mere atoms
ascending into orbit
insignificant yet definite
held together by the spaces between us
circling one another in harmonious chaos
disintegrated and unlimited
dispersing and unknowing
of the love the stars feel for us.

Sulking Skulking Silken Strategist

A predator crouches above her nest
swaying to the breeze or the rock n roll
I don’t know, but she eyes me with skepticism
a dark mass hunched before a white screen
not sure to believe the tallest tales
a mountain that stirs and moves
once in a cerulean moon.

Time moves differently around her
as she gathers the threads and shakes her head
fangs whetted with meals regretted
and bundling up the rest for later
she takes a few irregular steps
eight-fold sensation precise co-ordination
slender legs braced in her trembling web.

She sifts through sands from distant lands
gritted mandibles release an imperceptible hiss
as she settles for seconds and vegetable bits
scavenging my discarded sustenance
only to instigate a lightening raid
gathering up more struggling morsels
and inviting her children out to play.