Thinking About You.

I think of you

as always,

it seems

- lately.

I don’t count years,

                      tears

                 or beers.

This is the doozy year.

The year of make

break!

live/die

burn all bridges

grow-year.

Lets fucking do this…

I’m in.

Count me..

Hand up here!

Note to Reader:

Three people seem to have put their hand up for the self improvement course at the TAFE.

I am not sure which TAFE that is but I can find out and let you know before the interval of twenty minutes.

I am pretty sure that course works. I have seen people go and noted changes.

There are two schools of thought:

It Is Possible To Love Yourself

              V

Don’t Try - It Might Work

School of Philosophy

outside the window VII

the woman in only
a red bow tie
yellow spike heels
smiles
drinks tea
eats cake
she has buried the remains
the headstone reads
HE LIES
HERE
HEARTLESS
outside the window
the lawn is wet with autumn
the sky is
sun-yet-to-rise pale green
this colour replenishes your xi
says Zan
a seagulls rasp
rips through birdsong

outside the window VI

the moon falls
a giant pearl
into the ocean
waves slap
sloppy kisses
onto the sand
outside the window
a woman in only
a yellow bow tie
red spiked heels
bends
to scratch
a message in glass
"TAKE YOUR POISON"

YOU

Do you want me to label each word? This one LOVER, I was giving to Janet or Anne or James, someone else and the one I can't remember. Maybe to them all, I am not sure.
OCEAN was a reference to ablution, absolution. MOON, I actually thought heavenly body as I wrote or do you need further explanation? But I wasn't writing about YOU, someone I know intimately. There are many: YOU. YOU. YOU. PLUS YOU. Which one is YOU? Go ahead point yourself out.

outside the window V

i need my lover to be here
the one i dont have
the one denied me
the one who crashed a hole
in my imagination
the one i cant speak
the one i cant touch
the one i cant dream
outside the window
waves flop
fat wet puppies
johnaton livingston seagull
mashes the wet sand
with his pink webbed feet
then
joins the breakfast flock

outside the window IV

pegs bite the clothes line
trees dance
very far
a dog barks
closer
parakeets party
on pine cones
outside the window
in a tree's moon shadow
a man weeps
he has lost his Love
and can't tell
where
to
find
it

At Writers Week

Oh shit! Oh shit!
I dont fit!
Hair is neither
blonde nor bobbed
straightend or coiffed
my Sydney
designer coat
has a hole
no jewellery
makeup
forgot my
sunsmart hat
gold trim sunglasses.
Lucky,
Adelaide
has a share
of lovely lesbians,
there goes one now...
fairy floss pink mohawk
I LOVE CUNT
tat on her tit
she might spot me
and fit my empty hand.