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cloud press grey light
still air cold limp
spent
spent
limp cold air still
light grey press cloud

cloudcloud cloudpress cloudgrey cloudlight
cloudstill cloudair cloudcold cloudlimp
cloudspent
spentcloud
limpcloud coldcloud aircloud stillcloud
lightcloud greycloud presscloud cloudcloud

presscloud presspress pressgrey presslight
pressstill pressair presscold presslimp
pressspent
spentpress
limppress coldpress airpress stillpress
lightpress greypress presspress cloudpress

greycloud greypress greygrey greylight
greystill greyair greycold greylimp
greyspent
spentgrey
limpgrey coldgrey airgrey stillgrey
lightgrey greygrey pressgrey cloudgrey

lightcloud lightpress lightgrey lightlight
lightstill lightair lightcold lightlimp
lightspent
spentlight
limplight coldlight airlight stilllight
lightlight greylight presslight cloudlight

stillcloud stillpress stillgrey stilllight
stillstill stillair stillcold stilllimp
stillspent
spentstill
limpstill coldstill airstill stillstill
lightstill greystill pressstill cloudstill

aircloud airpress airgrey airlight
airstill airair aircold airlimp
airspent
spentair
limpair coldair airair stillair
lightair greyair pressair cloudair

coldcloud coldpress coldgrey coldlight
coldstill coldair coldcold coldlimp
coldspent
spentcold
limpcold coldcold aircold stillcold
lightcold greycold presscold cloudcold

limpcloud limppress limpgrey limplight
limpstill limpair limpcold limplimp
limpspent
spentlimp
limplimp coldlimp airlimp stilllimp
lightlimp greylimp presslimp cloudlimp

spentcloud spentpress spentgrey spentlight
spentstill spentair spentcold spentlimp
spentspent
spentspent
limpspent coldspent airspent stillspent
lightspent greyspent pressspent cloudspent

cloud press grey light
still air cold limp
spent
spent
limp cold air still
light grey press cloud

he told me

he told me
his ache was rib caged and pacing
he never found flame - only ash
his pen was inked with dust
something is wrong
something had gone wrong
something was never wrong before
he told me
ache caged
flame ash
pen dust
wrong
wrong
wrong
never wrong
never wrong
never wrong
before
he told me

not there

have i held you

man upon the stair

man who who

who wasn’t there

have i kissed you

man upon the stair

not there not there

what man where

i saw your stare

upon the stair

man not there

not there not there

i saw i saw

a stair stare

a not stair stare

did i see you

on the stair

not there

i saw your stare

upon the not there stair

i love you

stare man

not there man

upon the not stair

i saw i saw i saw

not here

not there

not not not

not on the stair

not anywhere

i held you

long upon the stair

i kissed you

upon the stair

i loved you

upon the stair

not there

not there

not not there

not not not there

man kiss held love

not

kiss not

held not

love not

there man

not there man

not there

not

man stair

held him

kiss man

love

not

there

at all

at all

at all

Pearls

Someone fingered my pearls.

Said they were crazy for pearls.


Pearls are for tears I did not say.

Tears and the moon.

The Woodwoman

The woodwoman and her helpers stack sawn jarrah sleepers against the back fence. One hundred and twenty dollars for a six by four. They had no change. Our first transaction and I wasn’t feeling generous about a thirty dollar tip. So Macca and Animal sped up the lane, with malice I thought, as the trailer swayed in a spray of stones and dust. Hannah, the woodwoman, stayed and talked about the ugliness of palms. Stupid trees long and naked with no shade potential. The people who planted them didn’t realise what mess makers they were. A hangover from the eighties when everyone was mad for them, but this desert town is no place for a tropical palm. She hoped it didn’t rain as the red mud was ferocious. Glued itself to boots and shoes and didn’t budge except onto any indoor surface. She reckoned her kids believed she was created to clean mud off stuff. She was in a hurry and had to go to work making pizzas for hungry bastards. The men came back from getting the change. Tried to break the land speed record down the back lane.

3.23pm.

Someone is drilling.

A kid is in trouble “Morgan!”

My shadow chases my pen.

Cabbage moths love dance across the sky.

Crouching clouds begin to creep.

A leaf hobbles across the pavers.

I prop the gate open.

Look at the new neat woodpile.

The sawn red ends of wood.

I photograph the wood and the stupid palms.

My cup is empty.

Incense burns low.

As I preview the photographs,

I see my reflection in the camera screen.

Wrinkled and white.

That’s me now.

I say to myself.

Get used to it.

I see an older woman

I see an older woman
on the other side
of Graeme Street
older like me
but
hobbles
hold me
stop me running
stop me grasping her
stop me hugging her
stop me inviting her
home for a cup of tea
a chat where
steam rises
spoons tink
sugar glints
instead
I tell the dog at number 27
don’t bark
just don’t bark

i poke it

something crouches inside
curled
furled
i poke it
unready
asleep
something crouches inside
unborn
unmade
i poke it
rolls
to the corner
of my brain
half baked
soft in the centre
not risen yet