Monday, October 29, 2012

but always welcome just the same -30/10/2012

Love is just a visitor in my life

a doctor continually paying housecall
trying to cure the ailments
(hypochondrial or otherwise)
of a bedridden boy who cried 


-- Randall Stephens (@RandyPoet)



Thursday, October 25, 2012

Disposed Towards -26/10/2012


Seeing smokers smoking outside a hospital always makes me feel... ungenerous


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Passwords -25/10/2012


live those shrugged shoulders
and held calls
stay friends til the next exit
or favour paid
and godless til the expiry date

finish what y'start
then start over
skim their titles
speak often
speak hard
speak up
speak highly
talk shit
in secret
speak yourself empty
and exactly

confide to the screen
because y'know
it will not tell anyone





Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Procedure -25/10/2012


night before you hospitalise

the sky holds its breath
the clock bites its lip
the packed bag with hands
fumbling awkward

in its pockets




Saturday, October 20, 2012

Grace -21/10/2012


having friends
with whom you can laugh at yourself

just as good as forgiving yourself
for being a cunt.

maybe better, by the way it feels




Saturday, October 6, 2012

At The Barn -7/10/2012


rooftop bathtub
podcast hip hop
graffiti and pot plants
rollies over old stories

reconstructing last evening
longneck for a hangover
chopped veggies for the soup
vapours from stove-top chai

and someone tagged the bread loaf

upstairs kitchen opens
on to old pallets gangplanks
and four states worth
of friends you haven't seen for years

      y'dropped your pocket

                  this is what we do

                          mate, get off the gear

                                    bench a hard one

injokes hang in the air
like bike parts over
racks of old costumes
and these scattered mattress'

while wet shoes
dry slow in the sun
and camera-nerds
are making plans

for an illegal evening.


More photos (here)



Friday, October 5, 2012

My Keys Don't Fit -5/10/2012


I am at my best itinerant
sexually frustrated
chip on shoulder hidden
with bag on back

at my clearest
not knowing
what's going on
what I'm walking into
or why
long coat over a stride
jingling a ring full of keys
that never fit

at my humblest
stubbled threadbare
night before's performance
having hosed out my head
fresh sweat now collecting
morning sun
under my hat

at my most gracious
having domesticated distance itself
made home in the misplaced
shaded in unfamiliar ceiling
against surrogate skyline

quiet enough
by far
for alone to take hold
magic misspells
and unspoken volumes

I am ideally a short answer
shot back at
some long winded question

I'm fine, this way


The 'ring full of keys that never fit' is a riff on a Henry Rollins line from "Get in The Van", which I figured could just as soon be the title for this, um, so now it is.  True story.