Monday, December 29, 2008

My Nightmare's End Is Your Exit

I was dreaming that we had broken up
then I awoke and I was that exactly alone
I sleepily aroused to remember the truth
that I'm subject to this nightmare on my own

you don't want me and I don't understand
we have been okay, good even, for ages
you know I was there for you; supportive
held you through all of your crazy stages

why are you doing this to me, let alone now?
your timing is despicable yet impeccable
your saying this makes me want to hate you
but I can't fake the feeling and you can tell

and that's the worst part of separation I guess
I only hope to wish I can impose you my pain
you gave up me and what you know is a future
apparently as you claimed; to stay sane

take time, find yourself, working something out
well it's all bullshit and you know no doubt
you could have worked it out with my help
now you've got nothing for us to show sound

I'm listless, I feel crippled and detached
I'm watching the life I've had collapse around me
but I'm lacking vision from within my body
it's distant and from the outside that I see

you think that you're special, exemplary
like not I or anyone else ever has doubts
well I'll give you the time away from me
you obviously need to work out what it's all about

being friends I don't think is a good idea
you're comfort is too much to endure
I can't stop missing our closeness and comfort
and not one of your sorrys is close to a cure

with this final; let me alone, just let me be
I'll move on without you, I know I must
you've proven time and over and again
I can't give you even a token of heart's trust

I hope that you can find whatever it is
that you or your life feels so lost without
you'll regret losing me for all of your life
you had your chance, now take your bow

through the good and bad but together
is how you've chosen not to be in this exit
there's no words left to say but please leave
shut the door and from you I'm set me free

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

All Over The Slowness

A man of twenty one is down about his seemingly (and ever more so) consuming, embittering, self-writhing waiting. And he lights another cigarette. A different brand from the second of two packs that he has with him because he's in the pattern of dissatisfaction of habits. One in his breast pocket, the other on the table. He sips his just more than half-drunk coffee, now luke-warm from exposure, as himself, to the bitter wind of a summer night that has not a trait to let believe it is so.

For all is swept and cold and anxious and imposes on him that exact mood as he thinks, despite having only minutes before arrived, that he is again wound round the tight bind of Love's baby little finger. And he wants to break it so and be free of the grip of consternation but he can't. Not yet, just not yet. Because he still sees in it some dreamy possibility, which he craves. A glimpse of a future, of an ideal, that he wants so badly to believe in and realise objectively as truth, and have faith in to rest upon his growing lonesome longings. So he but sits and waits.

It is not the first time he has waited for her. In fact he's waited on several occasions as he has with many a person, many a girl, many an instance in which he wishes to be in congregation with someone new and attentive and whom has such a mirrored aspiration. He's unsure at first why he convinces himself time and again that they - he or she - might change for him. Or not even for him, but for friendship's or honour's sake. This betrayal of his belief, which he blames them for invoking is a bottling hate, which will one day explode. But he finds forgiveness, for being knit so long, still has thread to give, but as one asks, 'how long is a piece of string?'

The juxtaposition is this: that he's reading Slowness. A book, somewhat but not exclusively, concerned with the notion of appreciating moments uninhibited by contemplation of the future. And he, who dreams of moments and upholds with pride the endeavor to focus and savor and remember those. Yet all the slowness of moments that are solo compound and pile upon each other stirring within him a desire for haste.

It has been until recently his subconscious quest to race through life, grow older, grow up because in those years where age seems the disparage of highest crime he aspired to being freer. Of constitution, opinion, people. But now, with his very aware and acute realisation that conversely with age comes plaguing and aching, waiting is the source of his accumulation of life in order to quicken his stream of existential being. For the dream he once had of the future and so much to greet has been excommunicated in favour of that to brisk through everything and have time to sit and rather than wait, contemplate the past and wish it lasted longer.

It is surely easier on the heart to review and wistfully recollect than it is to preview and see through to finally know there'll be nothing to forget. Except yourself. Time is that, which you can do nil to prevent loss of but have within your plans and corresponding actions every control over how it is spent. It is and always will be our greatest currency. So he leaves, grieving the cost of what she already owes him but knowing that he's learning a great responsibility. And just like that, the slowness is all over.

Friday, December 19, 2008

You Had Your Chance, But I'm Too Good For Goodbye

I find there's a familiar despise
in her greeting of squinted pretty eyes
and pity on her bitter breathe
when with a 'hi' she indiscreetly sighs
and I detect subtle fury in her tone
of conversation when she lies she's let go
and has ceased to let show any care

see, lately I have all too well fared
and perhaps that's to her surprise
since before us, as dust into thin air
did vanish the love we once shared
but with this meeting; her evidently,
not so well I can tell she has been
'cause what I read behind the screen
of her hate is refund of the lines

I screamed out loud when she said
there's nothing left to be felt
and content now my vengeful smile
returns that hurt she once dealt
and though be wicked I seethe
and knowingly so for it glee
I'm finally satisfied at how she
stumbles to correlate the way
we broke up with the possibility:

I'd better make for myself,
of my future and new love life
for her eyes have no foresight
only colour blind and hind prevails
and the places my heart and mind
now reside in are more the righteous
so with pride as I turn to leave
I give her one fleeting last glance
but so far unlike all my others
this one's for 'you had your chance'

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

With Hearts Still To Settle

'You know you are a whirlwind and I got swept up in your path. And still, though months passed you never completely set me down. I'd get close to feet on the ground then meet with you once again and have my interest stirred up and rendered unable to be shaken from your grip. And tonight's no exception, no closure on what started long ago. You and I have hearts to settle but until next time take care. All the best, you're most incredible.'

That's what he said to her. What he wished he could have said face to face, or conveyed with a kiss or an embrace. But over-contemplation placed him in the grip of fear in the moment and all his plans ceased at their evening's closure.

He walked in solitude, the incline up Swanston Street; the city fairly empty for a Sunday evening. Turning right up Little Lonsdale he felt his leather jacket pocket for his car keys. His sigh was as heavy as the weight she left on his heart at their every departure. For Feelings all too familiar he had not the comfort of a final cigarette as they'd shared the remains of a deck of Mild Sevens at the Carlton Club. And the last one of the packet they'd taxed each other of drags. Her lipstick on the filter tip, their fingers touching every couple of puffs.

Driving home and feeling more left alone than before, he played over and over the night's details. Spicy food for dinner. Her glasses of white, his matching quantities of red. The things they said, as every time like by rote, their tip-toeing around the moment they never closed months ago. She showed him her writing. Finally. It was what he questioned her of at every greeting and conversation the past year. Ever since the invitation to begin an exploration of creativity together.

Her words were magic and her offering of them modest. He encouraged her, genuinely impressed by what he read. There's a truth to the tune of your poetry and songs, he thought out loud. Despite all trying to concentrate on the pages, his eyes were for her lips, the same as they'd been since their first kiss. Of his inability to cease staring he was aware was obvious to her, but didn't care. He'd told her time and before and again of his wishful intentions and she knew, even if she pretended otherwise.

The instigation of their meeting was to consolidate their feelings and thoughts and happenings of their lives since she moved away. Now, she was moving further away again and him too before she would return. Obligation's grip gave each the mindset to not let time be their moat for history. A catch up was insisted upon. Post-dinner drinking was called for and for her choice of dinner; his was for where to drink. Overwhelmed with indecision he slipped into an attitude of being comfortable and determined an old hotel turned club.

She began with a cocktail, adventurous, daring, promising. He more aware that he'd be driving; decided a Gin and Tonic appropriate. The alcohol carrying their inhibitions from their brains, they continued the pattern of their warm and natural, chemical reaction conversation. But at every sentence, his thought ended with determination that he would kiss her before the night's end. For all she told him of though being single, not ready to yet again be with someone; he felt less aware of her dilemma, considering the waiting to which he'd already been subjected. But fairness did get the best of him at every chance he had he couldn't bring himself to move that two inches closer to her lips for fear she wouldn't initiate any response other than to scoff or laugh it off.

Walking the steps down and out of the Club at eleven thirty and back towards the tram lines he imagined and decided he would leave her with a full lipped kiss despite it all. A once and never again dare to sear himself further to her memory. They arrived at their fork in the street, their T-intersection and as he knew she would, he leaned at a speed to meet her. Arms outstretched in embrace and wrapped around each other. This time however, her mouth more obviously found his cheek. Unlike all their previous greetings and regards where she'd leaned straight and he'd mistakenly gone left, this time she didn't.

Unprepared and surprised, all he could do was find her neck with his lips and hold them there for a split second. And on the drawing back; peck her on the cheek in true defeat, his desire and intention impossibly indiscreet. Thinking to himself in the last look into her eyes: this may be the last time I see you where there's any freedom to be honest. He promised himself he wouldn't let her forget this year they'd not spent together. But per the pattern of his life in every instance up and until, including tonight he just put off confronting her. Resigning to confide in the sanction of writing, where he could prose everything to dose her heart with his love, he sat in the car and as it warmed up he wrote.

In her response she claimed herself not whirlwind but whirlpool instead. And as he read the slurred words, drunkenly fumbled into a text message he was perplexed at her perhaps misunderstanding his written-between-the-lines hurt. But what did make sense, whether she meant it or not, was that she was more whirlpool than whirlwind. And he Love's fool for he'd been sucked in and drowned so far that there was no obvious way out.

He turned on the headlights and drove home from the city and stepping through the front door got a new packet of cigarettes from his draw, made a cup of tea and lighting another Mild Seven up, started writing everything he thought.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Pursuit Of The New

Life's journey sees regret's a course
that I find I always abide by
like the way of the wind: choice has no say
about the outcome of any and I
Time's magnetism; it draws us together,
opposed poles for awhile
but eventually Love's electricity
turns us away on our sides
there's no improving our conduction,
no precedent proven right
and though I strive to encompass random acts
they only resolve contrived
my mission it seems is the acquisition
of people and personalities
but in persistent metacognition
I realise that through them it's myself
I seek and long to define

The Truth That Hurts Most

I watch as she traipses across the width of Kingsway
with spits and spatters of rain hitting the streetlamps
dressed in a black leather jacket and tied back blonde hair
it settles with me that my imagination was well fair

sitting, her eyes find distraction in the busy street
occupation with the activity and bustle indiscreet
but when her eyes eventually meet inline with mine
I'm more positive there's a glisten in them tonight

coffee and cigarettes is not an expense I consider great
when it takes place in the pleasure of her company
and something I realised in the midst of conversing
was the girl I thought I knew wasn't so and thus alerting

was the situation I wasn't sure if was dating and I
grew past any discerning whether interest or faking
then in the contemplating on the walk back to my car
I debated whether my goodbye appeared instigating

of further intentions beyond a late evening coffee
cause when I leaned in by her cheek I sure got the
impression I missed where her lips wished be placed
and as I tripped and became awkward made the mistake

of letting goodbye be a look over my shoulder
rather than what I could have let honesty show her
all things considered the truth that hurts us the most
is that to the invitation to know me I'm burden of a host

Monday, December 8, 2008

A Drunk Discussion Of Love

one and all maybe it's the alcohol
or ourselves, maybe it's this house
or maybe it's these conversations
we can't stop running around

love is certainly not a time-line
love's another word for history
love so far we struggle to define
love's relative to what's missing

we delight discussing these theories
and bust out these philosophies
as we rant our random hypotheses
and take for granted desire's hypocrisies

eventually we settle on nothing solid
but for love's not what we thought
and I tip back my drink deciding
tonight it's best not be distraught

the tiresome fight for understanding
has and is fought and now's long lost
and you and I, we resign to admire
love as something; privilege to be taught

but tell me; isn't love an experience
that must be lived and's razor concise
and that which we lack the words to
equate to and fail in attempts to describe

and furthermore the prized trophy
we strive to shelve before we die
it seems amidst this drunken banter
it's indiscreetly what we all wish to sigh

so night like this after night- repeat
we try to replicate the most we've felt
even if dealt with poorly in the past
to defeat our heart's will not be knelt

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Not For Intoxication

for what's not connection
I know is chemistry
and for what's not letting grow
is an alcoholic memory
for what happened last night
sorry's not the right word
for what you let me show you
there's no lifetime that'll wipe away the hurt

intoxication's just a cheap excuse
for what you said you would do then didn't
not that I want any resolve other than
my stopping having to otherwise insist
take your tone now for example
it's sample you're great at looping
so much so that I don't know
what's spoken whether truth or fable

you found me the morning after
with tact I give you that
but the words you write as paper's thin
don't hold long intact
it's vicious how limitless your fingers
get behind those keys
as you tap away not looking down
do your eyes of the fight you give even see

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Duty's Clause

duty calls and drags by it's claws
all my intentions to just ignore
until I give in for the sores
won't scab just bleed of all her need
and thick liability pours

with trepidation I always answer
with plans to excuse from further action
then tackle she will; a fish strung to my line
and though shackled my anchor gives every time

broke I am for lavishly spending
youthful vigor and energy tending
to send a regard when obligation grabs conscience
and what I loath most is the words I utter so honest

help not can be made for Sincerity's fool
yet genuine love seems my mind's likely tool
for plowing the crop of what I turn from
brief rest to pedestal and yet refuse to learn

We Spiralled Right Out Of Control

I love the words
I choose to use
to describe your use of me

low and behold
for all that I told
myself of our love I see

now left alone
more cold and closed
than ever, we're no possibility

and sting it does
the blind man's eyes
the images from which
he can't shake free

no sleep will save me
from the dreams I have
of you and I in the way
we used to be

not for need of closure
but more a rope to pull me
out of this time lapse
to which I heed

I despise to imagine
often the Summer days
hot, upon which we'd
decide to meet

you wearing a dress
myself in black tie attire
hand in hand towards water
bent to the gentle breeze

now be it days or years
before you realise
the ways which we made
our time sparse

for what we shared
and showed in pounds of care
we should've strived
to make longer last

but at last we caved
and saved what we could
of a relationship
best left as an ending

instead of mending with thread
only to know would come lose
we now bare rags and as homeless
carry bags filled with tokens

of better days and love's memories
and love letters we meant to send
but never will

Justice Is Luck's Brother

for all trying I can't get excited
about anything or anyone lately
let alone the puffs of smoke
that with need of nicotine I'm inhaling

and at impale with your words
my heart knows to weep
because it fails all my attempts
to hold near, safe and keep

the feelings that you're finding
in the arms of another
so similar and compatible
I wonder soul mate or lover

Justice is only brother
to Luck and Co-incidence
and it seems life is spent
awaiting that very instance

the moment of love's knowing
is worth every owning
and banking under lock and key
in the deepest part of your heart's memory

because it's at risk of being robbed
by life's cynical walk
and the way we write lyrics
and listen to songs and then talk

with wistful wonder at love's plunder
only to wind up empty in palms
and face each other outstretched
with the lengths of our arms

Sunday, November 30, 2008


long distance call
drops in from Paris
she's there with friends
it's twelve AM
and Winter

I remark excitedly
I miss her
wishing I had wings
to fly there
sit for a moment with me
hello and a hug
from one side
of the world
to the other

The Eiffel tower
she tells me she
and I imagine the view
through her
but my thought is
more than the world's view
I want right now
that of you

I'm getting to be
a great painter lately
my technique
with my mind's eye brush
stroke and layers
are slowly perfecting

the longer and longer
the fonder I grow
of the coloured stains
and drips
still wet on the insides
of my eyelids

and I can't wait
to show
you everything that I've
dreamed of and about
you and I
Evie, can you hear me?
an echo just below

the beat of your heart
and the melody
of Paris
humming softly a tune
I miss you


I crave congregating human contact
in that surly afternoon waiting
sitting; creating ways to fill the gaps
eying the empty strays of light

escape me does the time until
the sun's setting reminds me the hour
and paid up am I on all my change
patience; saved for spending on them

I berate myself for feeling desperate
and put the phone down again
remembering when it wasn't this hard
to find a friend on a Sunday

Friday, November 28, 2008

Tears And Terms Of Endearment

she pierces with terms of endearment
and tears fiercely roll down her cheek
and indeed you should fear loss of her love
but you only hear her pleading as meek

you reek with the stench of betrayal
and though you say you tried but can't
it fails all your efforts of redemption
and as she wails you can't wait to depart

heartless she says are your actions
apart you've torn with more than words
distaste and scorn is your residue
the more you ignore the surer she hurts

no for an answer happens to invoke
a promotion of the desperation so contained
in your both staying together despite all
the time you wasted of each other's tainting

now the stains on the bed and your palms
are puddles of spent love wrung to dry
under the weight of a river you're carried
floating away with lack of patience's tide

the words stumble out of your mouth
the last straw you draw to exit and rash
with your tongue you mumble goodbye
and you don't even know what you've lashed

but passion has a way of heating a moment
your tone is hard enough to break bones
...let alone to disown a heart

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Too Serious I Fear Too Soon

I can't look those in the eyes -
the serious- for fear of what lies
I might sprout to work my way out
of having to say something nice
suffice to say they're too alike
in the way that they make contact
and I can barely handle one,
as for ego compounded so strikes

of the two: I grew up with one;
the man I knew came to his own
but her not having known before him
I'm finding little to show
in the way of warm emotions
as intersecting is my perception
of a relation so unfolded in hope
with my unshakable skepticism

but not for fail of wanting, prevail
still does some discontentment
and with entrails of guilt I pretend
to enjoy at his every mention
of him and her together
and the history layered so quick, so well
but how to tell the truth of it;
that I don't feel what it is that they sell

I time-line all my loves;
have and will there's no escape expiration
I try to turn from my foresight
the doubt of forever as expectation
but will power's only so strong
and not long before I know I've taken
to thought of possibly their love's fake
but want so to be mistaken

there's less words for affirmation
than reassurance that I can say
I hate to think I play down this
but romantic happiness is not a plague
over confidence doesn't write the same
as wistful thinking gives conscience to claim
but chained to motives of harm less their love
am I than to say all the above face to face

Tuesday, November 25, 2008


I think of girls who play Tetris
and let us as the bricks lay them
so straight in line and parallel
fitted neat into each other until
so square are we that disappear
for score are points that we clear
and equate to meaning something

I find I feed my brain the bricks
in places aside and outside the game
passing buildings down the street
in the characteristics of girls I meet
but see the pace always hastens
as the next level higher you climb
no winning it beats me right down
the way you lose every one to time

I inevitably run out of ways to make fit
those bricks that are simply you and I
and as Tetris even for record high scores
for trying eventually we sour and sore
realising love has nowhere to go
but game over

Saturday, November 22, 2008

For Wanting Of Winter Ways
Another Year As Nears Summer's Days

I haven't felt this way
since the winter of last year
the cold and feeling old
and slowly creeping fear
that maybe you don't requite
or see me in that light
of adoration
and infatuation
that I can't help but be consumed by
and if my conscience does not lie
I think I'm falling for you again

my trying can't stop the bending
and thoughts that will not end
of me sending you that letter
outlining how I really feel
but is this loving real
or shit I'm creating in my head
happenings and conversations
things you've not yet said
about how you don't really want me
not now
just like
not then.

almost a year on
and it's nearly summer
but a fast resumption
of this sadness has landed in my lap
and like sap it bleeds
my conscience's need
to slip from Happiness' track

my plan of attack
failed implementation

I'm still as depressed
as I was both those winters
I'm on medication daily
to just stay asleep
but the cure for insomnia
seems only to weep

I keep trying to align
my eyes forward but I turn
and through a veil I write
to hide behind words
caught in the past my glance
strays sideways
and sure enough
peripheral vision like a fish fails
with my sight so tunneled
my hope behind, only trails
but long lost love, true enough
still knows no fail

The Thinking Of Kissing

I was reading 'Tropic Of Cancer.' Of this guy - Henry Miller's - life and begun thinking how I'd like a kiss and Liz tripped upon my mind. I'd kiss her... Yes, intoxicated or not. Oh and how her black hair now let down unlike when blonde and brown and up! But the teeth. Hmm, the teeth in her mouth and my need for straight lines. Straight teeth. I'm sure with my lips to hers in the moment of a kiss I'd not know any different. But it's the thought of sure enough knowing that at the withdraw she'd smile and even I too but I'd see her teeth and maybe realise my smile be pasted on fake.

And furthermore, for the mistake of making an intention false, though to her sight probably nice, I couldn't suffice to feel alright. Trying to survive my eyes would stray I'm confident. They'd betray the sincerity her lips deserve. Not necessarily towards others but certainly towards her flaws. And not 'cause but for as well, there are those that I'd kiss and not let mean a thing. But with hers I'd quick mislead. Indeed at the imagining of the ordeal I realise it possible I'm just a puddle of feeling. Seething with fear of falling in love again. Can you fear an other falling for yourself?

Legit or not, I have no clear contention. But near a kiss brings me -I'm positive- to being distressed. Either for it's consequence or influence and that is for both parties. Still it's a thought that has caught my contemplation lately and in it every occasion is a picture of her and I. And I, with Time have painted it perfectly. And lock-lipped we are kissing.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Stranger's Smile

despite absence of all trying I'm falling in love with a stranger's smile
finding more and more all the time hers unlike any I've seen in awhile
hiding behind the friendly front it's kind to me her lips that curve
and I wonder do I detect suggestion written in her eyes or do I just yearn

see, some months ago I once thought life promised some kindness in others
but I then eventually learnt that love's mainly vague even in the arms of a lover
this once I remember smoking cigarettes on the bench for wreck of nerves
and as such; patiently awaiting a break in my stench of fear to ask her

a moment aside outside or in that cafe where I made my intentions clear
and on the story goes; we had a month or so but all closeness disappeared
I can't come near that feeling again I'm not of strength to bare it as such
but what a tearing it's head against heart and if left it's weight is so much

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

I Often Mistake

sipping drinks she sighs,
'your cigarettes strike the back of my throat'
and I smile replying with a whisper,
'that's how they're supposed to'
she says the house red wine's too dry
and turns barnacles of her tongue
the taste buds lift up in reaction,
making drinking and discussing less fun
my eyes stray unsure of this moment
or whether maybe she thinks it's a date
I debated for over two weeks
if or not this move would be good to make

truth I tell, I just want someone
with which it's an ease to spend the night
it sells to me; someone whom I can share
mutual company with as a plight
attention and care for detail,
looks or insight I do less than Dark's silence
I want a body all night to lie next to,
who'll help me and I them pass the time
are you her? am I him? that's a conversation
though bracing I'm unable to begin
split a taxi? let's exchange numbers
'cause all before us is quick growing thin

we walk to where's a stairwell
at a car park and I climb right behind you
to bid fair well and say our goodbyes,
take care, hope I see you soon
but the descent of steps always sets
my mind afloat with romantic thought
you know I'd brought a piece of paper
with prose to show you but got caught
in the spitting rain on the way to the table,
tonight where you awaited me
and the black ink drizzled in my hands,
those words between us not meant to be

nor a future meeting, another date a mistake
'cause we're where worlds collide
you old, I young but that the least of it
we'd break for being too minds alike

Monday, November 17, 2008

Tick To Own Or Dispose

a friend of mine got stuck
on a decision of romance
vented and confided he's
debating taking a chance
on the possibility of a future
that either doesn't include her
or stays comfortably happy
but remains plagued by a lacking
of knowing or not what else is
there may be that he'll miss

then he hands me a list with
division written on it in columns
two sides split down the middle
headed should I own or dispose
well I then penned two ticks
cause at this only you know
whether all your intentions
you're best lay up or below
where your feelings most
head or loins you're able to stow

see what a common question
seems all of us fear to strike
like the time-line of love
has inevitable bumps rife
and we bounce and stumble
over them losing balance
until we tilt and wobble and
fall off the edge of the graph
the tall orders from friends
and expectations of depths lend
to what we value as important
and will live with though distraught

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Your Heart And The Hour Glass

tall, with a figure like
an hour glass she stands
and you watch your plans
pour as does the sand
quickly down the curves
through that tiny gap
time slips by and away
though you hold out your hands

opposed to the hour glass
you know that you can't
turn her over and begin again
as was at the start
once the grains fill the base
it occurs you must depart
'cause gone now is the space
once saved for your heart

God's House

god's house is a place where you watch the time
sitting, you make your prayers as seen as mine
yet it seems ripe life ticks by so filled with silence
as slowly you wait for his voice to sound final

gathered together numbers multiply faith
and patience extrapolates with every new face
take up an offering and feel good for your loss
tossing a hollow coin or two as pay saves the lost

the many empty shells have belly to sing praise
and raise the tolerance of what ceases to amaze
emotion knows to grow under the candles' light
god's presence shows up when it's well contrived

obvious to strangers is faith in needing having faith
to pray and stay amongst those in line for the lathe
wait they will to work the shape a pattern that's saved
from falling far from grace as polished by a bathe

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Amplification Of Dissociation

windows' amplifier rests on my laptop screen
as I write you words and try to think what I mean
when I say we've been together and at this too long
it occurs to me I'm just writing the lyrics of the song

in my ears 'cause the tears that are the singer's voice
strumming and running; dictating my hapless choice
are as written for you and I as clearly as the author
and to you I'm bringing decision just as he brought her

the melancholy of our time post romance in flee
seems all I'm able to find in my stream of words I see
typed up glossy and prosed in my mind that you read
I'm struggling to stop clutching to the repetition of let us be

when we meet next I'll brace myself and play it for you
let you listen to the notes as tears glisten and choose
the direction for us to float 'cause I can't or won't pull away
without you feeling the same and accepting part of the blame

tame it seems to be so placid in reacting to this relation
that's abrading in such a manner like a terminal cancer patient
as one's relations to their loved one say well his run was good
I confide I feel like wise and know you and I did all we could

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Let's Watch The Stars

the wind whistles by my ear
with a heat breathing summer's near
and it's teething; my pining your return
what an ache for waiting is yearn

I burn through nights watching the sky
like looking harder, longer I'll find
evidence your eminent return's arrived
and as dawn climbs I realise you're just

watching the same fading stars fall as I

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Let's Pretend
We Didn't See Forever

black Doc Martins on her feet
strapped in Cheap Monday jeans
yeah, I see her out now and then
and I pretend like she don't mean

as much any more to me
than I led her on to believe

now as I am is just how we meet
and I don't tell her what I see
what with locked eyes moments freeze
'cause escaped has all momentum
left door open her motion ceased

Just One Night

there were tears that flooded a silence
out a night in a courtyard and as far as I
could tell they were none for any wasting
her face melting with a pasty wax white
her friend stretched lent hands to her cheeks
wiping away the bent streaks spent of saline
her mouth moving in console I couldn't hear
the words but knew their effect to that of
it's alright, that all will be alright dear
it was one night, this is one night, just one
in a string of life's silence on love

New Friends

I've been finding new
friends in funny places
ones which once were not
and there where
so less expected

provisions of neutral care

no pretending or agenda

or subtle judgment
just my free thinking
debating with theirs

so, and there reside
I will awhile

till consent more
my friends and I do inline

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Well So

tar thick stands your ego tall, so
I can slip by unnoticed well so,
what if gravity piles on my head
till all falls, my glance cast below
the shadows on brick walls so low
tied laces undone stretch and grow
roam the paving; fitting I know
for my stow of killing feeling slow
you hold the bow willing, your shadow
loads the arrow and aims well so

If Only So Disposable

put a cigarette upon my lips
and light me up with your tongue
seep in my lungs; nicotine heavy
and flick me away when done

this drag's a solemn breathe
rasped, left not long to linger
sucked; pulling my spirit up under
the gaps between your clenched fingers

pinching, till squeezed dry is my love

Monday, November 3, 2008

A Despise Of Lies

like lightning's ravaged my hair
I prepare myself for a storm at your cusp
wild weather expecting do damage
to all that bares hold us up

by a thread and vexing are the eyes
of strangers on the sidewalk
stepping, with leaned forward strides
I must be pepping myself in viscous talk

the corners of my mouth
parallel edges as sharp the sword
grated upon a stone: two blades
with which to cut you down were born

yes, you're the mother of my hate
and the wife of my despise
married to my every thought
of the damage provoked by lies

two words as carelessly are cast
we spit at each other like acid
fuck off! fuck you! no, you fuck off!
we scream and rave, only our passion placid

how does 'how do you do?'
grow wings and teeth - that of dragons
till it breathes fire and scorches
and makes love a branding

never removed from the skin
I itch at you constantly irritating
and just the sight of you riles me
my strong dislike thrives with no abating

Thursday, October 30, 2008

A Looking Glass

I'm taken,
swept by the separation
of a pane of glass
as though permission's granted,
not having to ask

to watch you
and think of you
and wonder what's to pass
if I step beyond
the reflection
and make ask you out the task

but at last lights flicker,
switching off for the night
and chairs empty resigns me
I should have earlier strived
taken up with courage,
boarded up with bold
when I had the time

cognitive ability lies
as self-preservation
before abating belies

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

The Prisoner Of Cynicism

your open mind let's my token words as a breeze brush in
in a gush flooding and filling, in a seethe the space up within
and it's switching on my dithered interest; the juxtaposition
of your obvious contemplation marked in the words, "I dunno"

so fitting is it your timing now reminding me what love is
that I'm bothered by myself finding such assurance like this
that excitement is best paired between two kindred spirits
and feeling alone is less overrated, so long's you harbor hope

denial's the curse placed upon instinct in absence of relation
like surprise suffices justification of judgment precluding investigation
and ball and chain becomes
your weight to carry in Cynicism's prison
you'll rest on Skepticism's laurels unaware what you make them bare
only thins them

Monday, October 27, 2008

Hold Steady, Love

what our love is known for comes in waves and gathers
at the shore front and laps at our feet making out patterns
with the shells and seaweed and driftwood aligning tracks

that sit in the sand a little while then away they wash back
and taken as a boat by the tide you and I seem drifting forever
upon an ocean with motion towards endless storms' tether

but not break or splinter will we for anchored strong and fast
to the sea's floor and gash with claws the wind will till then pass
leaving us weathered and seasick but on knees in thanks

hoisted sail to the gusts to carry us further on by our flanks

Saturday, October 25, 2008

You're Growing Hope And It Sells

I'm drawn in and of to you pulled through your mind's eye for me
the way I'm transparent you find easily more than most see
drinking on Fitzroy street you've been the first lacking fear to question
noting quick and blatant that I sear myself because of what I less mention

struck slightly embarrassed at your insight and requiting interest of haste
I paused for a second not quite sure how to respond or keep face
but I chuckled inside my head much more aware for your saying
and it became me an inspiration that I've long been incorrectly aiming

your philosophies on love and relations are romance by definition
and on a pedestal you hold high marriage, as if by wise premonition
you're let aware you're just waiting for what's inevitably due
with a sense of conviction so contagious it may's well be true

see my mind shadows my heart and won't be shaken or torn
though with a sense of longing I yearn my conscience be reborn
and if to do it all over I'd be hard pressed to say I crave knowing
because my crime is over thinking yet my only sure bestowing

I love the phrase you and I mirrors for each other leave exposed
not only reflections but angles and aspects unseen and unknown
when I look at your words italicised in your eyes gleaming hope
I bury my harrowed thoughts in the soil of yours waiting to grow

an evolution is underway creeping along my bones out my mouth
down my nose, past my ears and it's soon enough going to surround
I can feel the air thicker for more intimate desire breathing all around
drowning the sounds of sad love with trumpets exclaiming; wait, be found

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Your October Coat

I never told you the extent to which, I fell in love with your October coat
I couldn't mention of or hint at what I felt as the sun melted through the snow
I wouldn't allude how I let it rope me in as Winter quickly passed into spring
and dare not venture beyond friends for fear of what haste and impatience brings

that long jacket bathed you in grey but not bleak for your cashmere eyes
glowed a pastel amber when rays of sun streaked crimson through a lazy sunrise
if procrastination were profession you used to be an excuse to misuse my time
we were perfect in our learning of what for wanting does to make you smile

now what wonders left for what one does know about how the heart abnegates
through my skin it permeates to my skeleton abrading sinew till for pain I abdicate
your coat tails lifted brisk to the timely wind the new summer afternoon looming
and letting go your rope the room in my head I made home for you disappeared just as soon

Tuesday, October 21, 2008


zippers on her back pockets
what a pair of jeans to admire
but what hides beneath
worth keeping secret from
my prying eyes

lipstick on her table
beside a half cup o'coffee
and a pack of Kent cigarettes
her last change spent
with my priorities

wistful lines run her face
age impossible to define
sublime; her smile charms me
and I ask have you the time?

she turns round her shoulder
and she's older than I think
she drops a glance to her watch
sighs bout a half past six

other people waiting

we're not strangers anymore