Friday, 29 September 2017

Human Valentines

I think of things to write and they slide off before I burn them permanent I wish I’d learn. I am craving an outpour today a real wave of it. Seb is here we drank in my room and the mirror was moved it changed everything I knew. We are obsessed with conventional things and we flourish in it. We flower and bloom. Top-tail with feet sticking out from wrapped doona I am waiting to use the bathroom again. My jeans press against my bladder in a way that ruins my whole world god I’m dramatic today. It is the second day and also the second last day, of a thing, like a colour. Pinching muscles to try and relax, trying trying so hard. Waking up before dawn every morning and rolling rolling I get a lot of thinking done in this state of sleepless fatigue, our brain thoughts next to one another’s feet and the beginning of another day. Love is in the doing, we make things so we can feel.

Friday, 22 September 2017

putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again

I ask her sheepishly if she thinks it’s a bad idea for me to get yet another coffee and she shrugs theatrically and says it’s before midday so go for broke – later at the produce market we sit on wicker chairs under a blanket and watch dogs walk past, her dog was poisoned when she was young and the cruelness in the world sinks its teeth into me like frostbite. The rain comes down and I’m almost thankful, the longest summer of my life is liquidating and now I can crawl into bed where I am most days anyhow and rest these aching bones for a season.

In bed, stoned and eating chips, we say with serious faces that one thing we will for sure miss about Berlin is Spree Quell (extra fizzy mineral water) - 12 empty bottles standing side by side like commuters in an elevator, I keep meaning to take them to the recycling. It’s funny, how moody I am, and I keep cutting things out of my diet to try and regulate whatever’s going on in my body and it’s one of those things you're never sure is really working, a bit like God or fish oil tablets. Are you having a wild time over there? Actually it’s all about herbal teas and soda water. It’s colder at nights now and I hobble around my studio in blankets, there’s a heater but I don’t know how to work it and no one’s around to ask. Creaky bones and sleeps filled to the brim with dreams, I dream of zoe a lot and seb thinks that means she also dreams about me, too. 

We were all glowing that night, with newness and full hearts and the extra spark delivered on his horizontal mirror. And we were glowing still the weekend earlier, smashing glasses in the fancy bar through the stupor of our foggy brains and we were glowing in the park, all lit up with the exciting plan of doing absolutely nothing but going back to bed and watching one tree hill. The new moon wants to bring a sense of ease to my relationship with my body, I try to let it, but “I am complete as I am” is a tricky phrase that clags up my internal room. What does slowing down look like? I try to change my gut response – that is looks bad, that it looks slovenly. I’m a triple fire what can I do.

Turning the corner I find you all huddled on a stoop, on the wrong side of the city and we laugh with our wild hearts. We breathe energy into the evening even though our reserves are low, and but we give it like a gift ‘cause sometimes that’s what support looks like.

Thursday, 14 September 2017

Breakfast in the waiting room between my mind and yours

Through the wall you imagine her weighing
on your leafy arms and I understand
why you’d want to sedate yourself, and crawl out
in the morning                    shuffle back late at night
why you’d lose pieces of yourself in sugary bowls of cereal
over which                            the truth is constantly avoided
why you’d avoid
the stoned dead stare, eyes fixed through smoke
                                                                        on what? the past
you have dragged yourself across mind frames of prickling thought
and questioned the fabric of your reality

you’ve locked parts of you away that have hardly seen existence
that have only been trodden on, your heart, an obvious one
                                                      I think I saw it once
                                                      and I understand
                                                      the desire to keep some doors locked

in the blackest evenings it’s a task to even
summon anger, let me help you
I have enough to share

in the blackest evenings you have kept yourself alight(alive)
and I know you often don’t want to

your brain’s pillars go on holding while your pride
retreats like winter

you reach within yourself
and pull out broken furniture
there are lessons here, take them with you
                                                      take them in
                                                      to your soft heart, cold, and life-affirming.

Sunday, 10 September 2017


I wished I could unlatch his body from the prison
it had made of itself, later
a salty tear makes a claggy mess of his words and
something reaches from within that moment of vulnerability (a hand, crooked)
                  I wish I could take you with me
                  to the parallel universe where I live, right next to you
                  all the time (without suffering)

at least we both are sure that we exist right now, I think
it was the year she began to look for answers
in her own body, the mesh of hair trapped in spoke of hairbrush
she asks for directions in her forearm freckles
we were born equipped with maps
we have no idea how to read

she asks if she is deserving of this worthlessness
I say — no — I don’t know — I mean I know some things
like you are methodical and stable, and that is a good thing
you can walk long journeys with strong legs
you are assertive in the closed door faces of powerful men
and you
don’t need to raise your voice for everyone to listen
and to me, you are worth a great deal

I was born from your body and when you move
I am reminded of the salt that licks and tumbles
under the skin of waves

the salt that keeps us all from drowning.

Tuesday, 5 September 2017


Last night, the dream of them sitting
at the foot of my bed
with that giant light bulb skull
                                    ‘oh — I forgot your brain could glow,’ I said
through the thick glaze of sleep, hands extended
                                    towards the places where light escaped from
                                                      tear duct, ear drum, nostril, gap of tooth

for a doubtful second I thought they’d recoil, but they offered
their skull toward me and I knew our trust was intact

I noticed our cheeks bore tracks of shiny hot tears,
I realised we weren’t in our usual dimension, but we
lived here now and I couldn’t have been be happier

out in the real world, where my feet touch a solid ground
and your skull glows quieter, softly, maybe only I can see it —
                                    I dare to roll under your hot skin and wander
                                    through your garden of anxious thought
I let your intricacies swamp my very existence                  (and despite
                                                                                                                              the emblazoned performance
                                                                                                                              of my independence)
                                                                                                            I wander into dreams with you and
                                                                                                            devour your breath and light.
I howl like a coyote over morning coffee and your hands
lovingly find my jugular in the dark
again and again

who wrote this chapter of our lives? why
did they endow me with such qualities as manic reading,
disturbed sleeping, heavy drinking
are you equipped to move through intimacy so unscathed and why
does your head glow at night — is it a lighthouse, beckoning, safe
or a warning sign  — ‘turn back
trust in the real, the daily, trust the solid and the durable
trust not what keeps you up at night.’

but what do I know.

‘you don’t have to be so good to me,’ you say
and we grin at each other like old conspirators, like partners in crime, like
my devotion is a running joke, and I laugh
because I know I don’t have to
                                                      that maybe I’d be better off to seal up the wound
                                                      that bears your name
                                                      but what’s good for us is boring and we
all see only what we want to
and when your head glows
from between my hands

in the laptop light of evening                        I see you as a lighthouse