Tuesday, April 20

April 8

I walked across the bridge over Burgundy St
Looked right to the sky
Full Moon hung over the hazy Dandenongs
Down the valley into Heidelburg

I drove home
Into a blazing golden sun
I would have been dazzled
If my eyes weren't wearing grief already

Its a dry echoey ward
We have the best seat
And morphine crystalizes the view

Parts of me in strange places
My heart is with bed 13
Is it a lucky number?
in America, 12 to 14

Somewhere ahead the road for us stops
and we don't walk together any more
Hold my hand tightly now
I want to feel your heart beating
into my palm



I can feel it now

the paper cutout of your pain
lays down over my body
like a sheet settling over a well made bed
stabs of incomprehension, aches of recognition

your hands made my cup of herbal tea
your crown prickles at the dark corners
your eyes look at me from the mirror
green, blue, yellow, cloudy

I can see your white temples

while I was playing Bach at your viewing
thank god I was only me
my heart reached over my breast bone
and my lips
kissed your cold forehead
warm fingers massaged your praise

I know you miss me
but you know where I am


Gritty white cliffs left
a slimy grit mark in my bum cleft
I couldn't wash it off until the next morning
Then I had a clothes crisis
no shorts??
wore dirty weekend ones
kids didn't smell them over the zoo and
weird onion B O of the gorilla bachelor pad

Smell of Coogee and dreams of an
art deco apartment
walking distance from the (now) naked womens' pool
talking to Arbabic Lebanese migrant
teach for austraya
misses his country but
hates sydney and his bogan uncle(s...s...s)
back yard too big
wife too demanding he has
lost his language
and there is too much grass

want to get out of this town

Hard Rubbish

Young man, younger than my heart right now
didn't see me

but I saw him
ice wobbly, nicotine eyes
rifling through the pile
from the big white house

I strode down -
carrying moor loot
Words incomprehensible, then


take the bags from the trolly
mum wouldn't mind