States of Poetry NSW
her temper tanty's sus but your mites say sassy
's entering the pleather dome lookin'
poised w/ noose & savvy much obliged to
glorify her cunning firm & tout
its nous for oblivion
where the pert velvet diva never lets you rest
your glass head in which infinite
pools rotating w/ lust
voice toots from the comments field
dissing your angel
daze of body & soul come to a / won’t come to an
end on this / the last night of dearth
'In Fancy' was first published in The Bloomin' Notions of Other & Beau
Today in Sunday weather grevillia leaves
in turmoil, no evident breeze. A sugar hit. A honey
-eater, upside down at tilt and tumble.
The body also in Sunday mode. The mind
idling on automatic with no need
to be occupied or coloured, having come at last
to the end of a long apprenticeship in learning to leave
well alone. No empire to account to. No
A soft October morning,
adagio sostenuto. Some part
of me is still delayed
in sleep. It is one with
night, with daylight
stars, moths that fumble
at a window pane, bewildered
that this tract of sky,
like no other, will not yield.
The coffee cup, double espresso,
is deeper than it looks.
Each sip I take
a dark reaffirmation. ...
after Horace, Odes I, v
What slim-hipped beachboy dripping
with musk is riding you
now on a bed of roses
in your snug den, Pyrra? Is it
for him you have braided
those honey-gold locks
in a knot so neat, so
homely? One day
soon, black moods, black
looks, he'll be cursing
you and the fickle
gods who have ...
Sweet nothings in our ear
cherub pumpkin dearest chuck
but to the heart which is the better
listener the password
to a tongue that only two in their comings
and goings have access to
A blessed mouthfu ...
I was woken at some hour
of darkness before dawn by a scent so heavy
on my senses, on the room, that I was convinced
a burglar had broken in
and was loitering
upstairs or in the hallway, or having caught
my step on the stairs above him was lying low
in the laundry, or sitting
upright and unbreathing
in one of the Windsor chairs, unaware it w ...
The storm blows you back
its funnel ardent
its wide hungry eye
Its tongue croons you
onto flatline of prairie
When poppies drowsed you
red breath drew
gravity into your limbs:
you yearned for tall ...