Spendthrift wishes

Visit me in likeness of an angel losing breaths, in figures of discolored dreams and spendthrift wishes young and senseless. Flood me green and greener still, this fabric image painted sage and sinking inch by inch, and your reflection in the falling boughs and pine bouquets is perfectly obscure. So as I walk this shore […]

Backlit windows

– The plate glass isn’t clear today But finished quite opaquely. These casements old and splintered Offer useless points of view. My taste for scratched and Wintered windows lessens as The light disturbs them. My case for making friends With aged and dripping panes Made brittle by the backlight Of a morning’s coming through. – […]

I’m not thirsty

Another drop, and I’m not thirsty. Another sandstone day and I’m In afterthoughts abridging Creeks I’ve crossed until They’re rivers. Another easy riddle purled And dimpled hurling past To miss, and in its vivid laughter Glints of mirror-hues and Afternoons, and it’s too lucid still, Too intimate a dream to break the Surface for a […]

Those evenings

Those bluer evenings, too, Were Graceful. How pleasure made acquaintance In the deeper days with careworn Art and taciturn condolance. Those cold bouquets of dusk And secrets in the overcast To kiss me sympathetically, So dim and sober as a night, To be my solace and my Lovely sorrow born of wilted Gardens and of […]

These louder parts

Where all I am is disaccord, some impulse of the silence here that whispers in the cold and damp a hint of something evanescent–one grain among the countless claiming tenure to this course but only paling in its turns too scared of keeping quiet, so I scream into this speechless absolute to draw an echo […]

Undertow

Alone beneath the undertow To contemplate a silence. And maybe it’s in drowning That I find the perfect pressure, So I’ll breathe and take the alibi For mornings overslept, For undervalued days and For the listless grounds And dreams too lofty, And for just a simple moment I’ll regret the urge to listen. – #Melbourne […]

Once a Friday

Friday, and I’m tired of these Fickle belts of Sunlight making Reasons to assume The pattern’s apt to change, These clock-tick trades And Monday expectations Gone the way of grand designs And cracking masonry. Friday, and The bricks were just A bit too closely Mortared, so the Afternoon’s expansion Got the best of these reliefs. […]