Don’t feel sorry about it, if you remember
blue Darlinghurst nights like particular quilts
a generation of painters saw
before we arrived there, or found ourselves
We write about our existence pre-invasion / And that has made us visible
We write about our existence during invasion / And that keeps us visible
walgajunmanha... (read more)
Who doesn’t love the portmanteau
for tangerine and pomelo, or more like angel,
tango, words for wilderness ...
In a hallway with the door open, a Honeywell T87 will attempt to
equalise the temperature of the continuous (available) world. It sits
between the mirror-dresser and the coat-hook which resembles two
of four talons of a lived-in bird, like a Fiji or an Imitator goshawk ...
Tuesdays Paul comes by. He jogs up the driveway in his striped green shorts
and I’m there at the door with Ella on my hip. She’s crying, she’s teething
and drooling and crying from the pain, and some days I can’t stand it, I have ...
Even the waves of the sea, in the distance, have turned to stone.
The blue/green rising into outcrops, ridgelines, a lone bull ...
In my mind he is always half the age
I am now as he stands on a green shelf
of Razorback mountain. I will wait
for him forever in the backseat of a car,
my chin numbing on the window ledge ...
I am beholding clouds
… beholding the hands of a woman
… she has taken a fragment of me with her
Exactly like the force of a fork
carving out a piece of cake