Sunday, July 12, 2009

10 July, 2009

At the airport.

If she thinks about him enough will it keep him alive for five weeks?

The clouds line the hills like a row of fists.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I think of daisies.
Common garden variety love.

I am dressed to kill.
Black death’s best wardrobe.
Black shoes glow.
Black new jeans creak.
Black velvet jacket nipped at the waist,
Fashionably frayed at the wrist.

Going home.
In my chest
brailed wings
are released
heart opens throat
throat clears eyes
feet unpack
memory of sand
saltbush scent.
At my core
block of blue
line of purple
waves of red.
Going home.

communication fantasy

if i text you
ignore me
delete me
defeat me
destroy me
attack me
whack me
smack me
erase me
de-craze me
move me on!

At Anne and Phil’s

First they served me brandy
said here smoke this
gave me chocolate
and fed me earth.
Until I believe:
cunt was designed to be shared -
evolution colludes with me.

This is the story of woman’s experience of falling in love with someone she shouldn’tv’e fallen in love with. He was aside from an angel on earth, she saw his trails of glory, a broken man. Was the hand of God pulling her towards him or something more sinister? (Insert: Sympathy for the Devil lyrics here). My song he said the night she followed him to the pub. The night he kissed her on the lips, then cheek, then lips again. The night he said,” I will be back in an hour.”
”Will it take you that long?” she called to him as he left for the charity
fuck she had organized.

Lila chicken (whole grain mustard, a lot, half a jar, lemon and olive oil) baked all together with two fresh bay leaves potato and sweet potato wedges, cloves of garlic.
Strawberries, red wine and candles.
We watch a video on the new leather lounge, $300 + $10 delivery.
Fire in the grate and a pipe well packed
Roll on my life
Roll on.

Okay it is another day now.
July 11, 2009

I look back to see if I have created any wreckage. Not much.

Walking on the Grange beach a song is blown into my head.
I stride along singing

I am the mistress of abstention
I am the mistress of abstention
I am the mistress of abstention
In the nunnery by the sea

I am the mistress of abstention
I am the mistress of abstention
I am the mistress of abstention
I save my love for Thee.

I describe the image in my mind to Anne.
“Someone is handing me an orange cup, a significant cup.”
It is a cup for containment, a chalice, to hold your emotions.
(Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more, and lay me in the shade.) You need some cup imagery, she says and flicks through her cards: a dead saint, a man in pain, a toilet plunger. She hands me a card, a botanical painting of a hakea.

Flowers pink
penile protrusions
vulval mouths
seed nuts hard
shut tight
locked inside
new tree
not yet
ready to go.

I want to
lash fresh
skin pink
apply a whip
lay down leather
raise welts
break through.
See the bleed.

“A recent survey of all the visitors to Uluru found that 90% did not climb the rock out of respect for the traditional owners.
That 90% it turns out was overwhelmingly made up of international tourists. The other 10% who did climb the rock were mainly people of Australian origin.”

Richard Bennett
McLaren Vale
Letters to the Editor
The Advertiser
Saturday July 11 2009

I photograph “The Dead Summer Sun” on my phone. It is a starfish.

After lunch Anne tells me regret is a heart poison and the antidote is gratitude with a side salad of that abstract noun love. Regret is a thorny trap. Grief is something you can emerge from and don’t forget rule number six.

Rule Six
Don’t take yourself too seriously.

Masturbating During the Footy

Juddy takes a run.
Apply vibration to the essential spot.
until the magic muscle pulls and pulls again
explodes the sun a shower of stars
on the lounge room wall
Fevola puts one through he sticks.
All I hear is roar.

Tonight we are going out to be 60’s girls.
I will text you if I am in someone’s arms I shouldn’t be.
Stand by.

Of course nothing at all happens. I flirt with Kevin as I have for twenty years. I scared the possiblility away with an offer for him to collect the $100 I owed him from my my cunt with his teeth. Didn’t see him for dust and as far as I know the hundred bucks is still there.

I read solstice to Julian who asked if I wrote it. It’s about surrender to fate. I said

I read breathin’ to John (the poet, Paul Harrison calls it “stations of the cross” insert link here) This causes John to rabbit on for hours about the state of aboriginal education and I nearly fall asleep.

I danced in women’s circles with Bev, Penny and Mishy.
How do you do
Pleasure to meet ya
You look like one
Incredible creature
Blat! Blat! Blat! Blat! Balt!
Blat! Blat! Blat! Blattity! Bllaaat!

Someone told me listen to the Webb Sisters and her 70 year old mother quotes Leonard Cohen.
I say
“I want to love you now
I want to love you then
I want to love you never
And begin again.”

I have others.

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