Tuesday, 29 May 2012


Tubular Bells Relationship Of Command Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea and High Violet
and its not even the afternoon.
and what have I done today?
Ginsberg croissant Bukowski tea
shy sun finally behind its thick white screen
we had a good run / it'll be remembered
carpet sucked clean
floors soon to be mopped
old college demolished for houses

- i'll explain everything to the kids

Monday, 28 May 2012


you better run, son
daddy got gun gun
and your face is sweet.

Wednesday, 23 May 2012


jeez, louise. what a scorcher.
a real humdinger!
the barbeque sun rains down:
it rains a golden rain
and my hair drinks it
time has slowed to an
almost stop. a man, somewhere,
anywhere can be heard
completing moronic tasks;
mowing the grass,
and shuffling his feet.
i take the liberty to
send my consciousness up
there, swimming upwards several
metres through the thick, stagnant air.
and there i hover, just looking
at him and wondering why
he matched a checked shirt
with pin-stripped shorts
he scratches his head,
surveys the lawn
and removes an object
from his pocket.
metal shines, a sunny shine
and a small black hole orbits
in my direction.
the man has a gun
and it's aiming for me.
so back down i think,
i sink into my patch of moss
and abandoned fruit smoothie,
book, sunglasses and fm radio.
you can't touch me, fucker,
you don't have the presence of
i think he knew this, you know,
and rightly so i heard him shoot
the golden sun and the golden rule:
if a gun appears in a story -
it must be fired.

Thursday, 3 May 2012


the dog is licking a spot on the paving slabs.
i tell him to stop but he ignores my command.
They were both just fed and now this one tries to get some mushed in pasta or something from lunch off the ground. i tell him to stop again.

the spot he's licking is pretty wet now. i try to imagine what that feels like on his tongue.
i imagine pushing him away and leaning down and licking it myself.
watching him i begin to wonder how that would make me feel; on my hands and knees, licking.

to reach the bottle of beer i have to lean forward. after taking a sip i put the bottle down and sit back again. after doing this i have decided the dog is a moron.
i start to read the book in my hands but all i can think about is dinner and when my brother and mother will get back here. i stop reading and stare at nothing in particular and all i can hear is the dog's mouth and the birds making bird sounds and the stream doing it's thing.
i try to look at the sun but i can't because its too bright.
it feels like a search light, as if it were trying to get an answer out of me.
i wouldn't tell it even if it burned a hole right through my skull.

the dog has stopped and i
realise haven't spoken to my wife in three days.

Wednesday, 2 May 2012


com' on Big See
where is your pen?

wanna read sumin' 
that'll entertain mee