Monday, February 23, 2009


You never really knew me that well
i was always quiet
thinking of something better to say

Saturday, February 21, 2009


Let's steel ourselves to the pain and heartache 

of the world around

And then, under blankets on sofas

we'll watch hospital dramas and cry

to prove to ourselves that we can 

still feel.

Makes a Ghost

He lifts a hammer to her head, a wielding weight
to kill, or snuff out loud ghosts
But it's not murder, it's only fantasy
a dream 

He continues his painting,
an incredible collection

Murder on the streets
Murder makes a ghost

Friday, February 20, 2009

Wade Davis

When we climbed the ghost trees
and fell on our heads
it was a good year for panic
Yes it was

How did we get off the ground then?
Yes, I remember; we fell on our heads
It was a good year for unknowns

So when the crow falls in the winter months
when the old spirits leave Tree Mother for
the next place
when tear drops and rain fall from the same sky
the old growth forest on your tongue will fall silent.
Then, a bitter sleep.

The Most Important

Am I a Circle or a Square
or a Line
am I a Wave
am I a Cone
or a Cloud
or a Dream or a Network
am I Quantum
am I a Function Of Time

am I Dimension
am I Space

am I a Sound, or maybe
a Frequency
a Vibration

am I?

Monday, February 16, 2009


I'd lick the sleep from your eyes
and roll out of our bed
say hello to the dog
piss and make you breakfast
and then I'd work for you
and I'd labour oh how I'd work
for you

Asleep at the button again
I wrote all night the melody 
of my heart when it talks to 
my eyes
I'd wakewalk through the days
for you finding myself dream speaking
to the grass or spinning in the car
in the driveway in the same
old shirt as yesterday...

This is an intoxicating thing...
I hope you don't mind

Friday, February 13, 2009

There's A Time And Place For Daemons

Do I need to write another neurotic poem?
Do I need to type, fevered fast
To exorcise this stuckness?

I heard a story recently,
My dear friend Mr. Waits,
Driving down the freeway
Looked up, up in the air,
To that nothingness where potential resides
And he told his Genius to beat it for a while.

I need to turn off for just a few hours rest.
I'd like the pressure to stop.

Passion Barfs A Few Words

It is
Hard to believe
Long moments hardly gone
But still I can't retrieve 
The smells the air the electricity
Of our hands touching and
Our tongues spelling out words
For ghosts
Ghosts of shed inhibition and
The phantom shyness
The sky is the limit to
Where we'll go when
Blood mingles with skin, the
Drawing in of breath and misty
'I love you's
In in in
We pull and spiral
And I know that in a moment
I'll be totally lost
Inside of you.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Mandelbrot's Ouroboros

I'm not alone in the universe
not a lone set of eyes 
in the uni
I'm not alone with my hands
but I create with God himself
or rather, I am the creation
creating within my line 
of influence.


That Feeling

Writing is flying
and I don't
want to fall.

His Genius Is A Housepet

Allah, the great voice speaks
the listener like a vessel receives
words, his genius, everything he needs
to light up the world.
He who undressed from the quiet
who dances into the sounds of creation
whose body is a battery
he with delicate hands takes of the world
and gives light to the hungry and the blind.

....More later

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Tu Me Manque

Oui, c'est vrai.