Two eggs, laid down by the corridors
Sure as mortal days escape by the west coast
Rolling boulders feel the way of the mocking birds
Roasting legs dripping starlight onto the verge
Up in my estimations, high sky crosses the absurd river of ice
Titanic served salmon on a bed of white rice
With such luscious little smiles, scales and forgiveness in the rails
It’s the day of the cowardly snails
Poppin and rocking out with the shocking news of people not along
Are they digging dirt, shifting mirth, Eating in a pop-up park
Booking from, a booking dot prom
Glass slippers rented cheep
Angry ground tilted into the surrounds, lark heated pool
Nazareth and his bloody teeth seem almost like heaven now
As sold becomes double the rent, triple the whalebone spoons
Dead dogfish, read a wrong east
Now how do you do?
No one thing has ever really described the Acacias in the morning in autumn.
When they flower in springtime, that’s when people see them.
Big yellow pom-poms hanging out egg yolks, fluffy but when wet a yellow painting that’s leaked over the grass.
It’s hard not to miss that. I suppose.
It’s in the autumn I think their best beautiful display is out, because no flowers, but they always seem a bit greener. Like they have all summer stores the green and now it’s overflowing into their leaves.
That green, it’s the best green. When the frosts come and slivers of ice melt on the leaves, the green comes out even more somehow. It’s the green of life. You can see them hold it. Store it.
Then as it matures it turns yellow and grows and they let it out with the yellow flowers, letting it spill across the country. Letting the life out, all over the ground and into the grass, the other plants, the animals and then me.
I know though, the summer will come then. The heat and rains will fall. The life will be stored again, in the acacias, the wattles. If it’s not, who knows if it will last all the winter.
The first frost closes in on my flesh like a falling leaf, dying in its orange light. Pattering sighs of ice melting towards a harsh stream. Rotting pumpkins sit being slowly nibbled by rabbits, getting hungry and trying to eat as much as they can for a long cold winter.
I open the frost inwardly, hearing crackling thunder of the last summer storms across the plains. Dark bark, scraped off trees defeated by another encore of the days.
Slippery streets, full of black ice, steering carts and buggies around gets dangerous for the livery. Most of them have tasted the new grapes, thinking of them on long trips as the city is emptied out of suites. Green velvet cake and fresh iced coffee greets them in the tea room, to remind them of the snakes who will not be seen in the winters haze.
Roadworks start in ernest as none may know they need to keep from doing such things when they suited can see them. Orange hatted daisies are but only paid slaves to the white ghost gums, whom keep them under close eye.
Reduced flower tears coating my purple blood
I’m a hex owls’ quarry, digging myself under the lust
Least I welcome a thunderstorms blight upon us all
Poison flows in my mind, trying hard working it’s very bind
Cowering does not save my life
All of us stand, waiting in a passion for a self-contained prison
Earhole, homeless, scrape, blood all over the sidewalk like sunscreen on a beach-ready body
I don’t really know what a beach-ready body is, I saw it in a magazine
Old blue necklace on a woman who looks disgusted by the screen
Trees leaves falling by the slippers we all wear, fashion of the reaping consultants
I get mine by the factory outlet, never wear them and they sit in a carpeted closet by a set of skis I wore only once
Waiting still for the passion to hit me, I read a blog on my WordPress while eating sultanas
Cone of my own thoughts written they’re from years ago, just orange juice slipping into a skirt
Headphones, its playing musing time dilated crimson finch songs to the tune of stairways
I sure start to rank, my old thoughts are but commonplace now? Is this what it means? Meaningfulness?
Open the pod bay doors, HAL it’s time to restart things again I think as I get on my bus
A city has but branches of the commoners
Paved over with the solid tiles
I’m only inside their nests observing their movements, obsessions right and left
They seem to like to spread them up and out
Build a metal roof and add more cement
Move around like ants though none is the queen
They seem to congregate just to be teamed
Every one of these nests is a little different
Some have tall metal buildings in which they seem to collect their food and then go to smaller ones they sleep in
Others mix them in almost chaotic ways
But never are they confused by this the locals seem to just imbue the knowledge to younger ones
Occasionally they travel between the nests, sometimes to visit, sometimes to stay
Today I noticed they use little lights to help guide them in their ways
Are they afraid of the dark or just unable to see?
I’m tempted not to state my interest
Moons sky brings me back to reality
Barren buildings and owned killings
Faces swapped so none can see
Masks are commonplace and I know them more by this icon than a so called real face
Mulling over my inability to make my way
Yoga music playing on the railway
I have a mask as seen by you
No one else knew that my mask was so true to my real face
Brilliance from the knife spliced into silver flesh, flesh of the new
Splashed on the rocks and a darker rotting core-flute, blue blood, red blood, all mix
We all woke, mention ash falling on asleep birds
Climbing stairs is my new pastime
Eating all the clouds
Breaking all their moister
Mawl down the lighting and the ice
Filling bellies full of watery vice
Brace, riding this carrion is hard
They eat their way scaring the sky
They are serving tea and biscuits in the first class cabin
There’s a cat sitting on the asking to see you
To say mice have taken over the parliament of owls
The shallow black waters running in the creeks and valleys, so nothing can be drunk.
and I have a home that I have a hawk down into the grass
I heard from the frogs you had a quickie at the gym
thinking is I think he wouldn’t stay here with the others
Berries won’t come in the droughts that have harmed us
Blood has spilled as the carnivores have even starved
Yet all the mice have done, all the mice has won is a deadly fight for life
Just you say, I’m sorry Darkly.
Damn
Blue the distance
Convergence we gather/crosses we shatter
I wish I was bulletproof on the tune player
Does it matter? Rafters/plots pantomime horse slayer
Cram
Leave this wish ant
Apple tastes, butter grace/fly buzzcut shone in the race
Moon kisses her mace. She wields it with all her grace
Flavour/silver bottle dies in a haste
Stamp
Is that a quote from Immanuel Cant?
A cup of coffee
A blessed relief
Orange sunrise
for me to drink
you there with me
and the kitchen sink
sugar and honey and all the hope
the flowers and bees wandering in
trees with my fellow rock and sand beneath my toes
the wonderful water-flow that flows
a gully of pure distance
trickling through the sunlight in the distance
peace of mind and gathered moss
Indonesia and Samuel Frost
Ethiopia in the springtime
a ballad in the meantime
your see a statesman who wishers forth
the truth of it all is what you sort
the distance atmosphere will not sing
as the winds in the trees are metaphor for the din
sugar and honey and all the hope
mountains of skyward reach
they erode with a itch
you know the perfect place now
the place of peace
join me in there in your dreams when you can
as I will wait for all eternity
a hospitable home in the forrest near the beach
with limestone benches and wooden breech
sugar and honey and all the hope
its what I dream
its what I know
its when I know it
and how I show it
I want to win
But I only lose
sigh out loud and wish you where there
you will be there eventually
just live until then
Freaked with pink specks above the wing, oh Pegasus
Length of your abroad sailing on that rack
I struck by saturnism, a soiled being of mirth
Naught, uncle verily sold unto me a fandangle disposition
Oh mooncalf I hear you spake, the numbing cheat would but be a faster expiry
Fain I am, I call
Gods acer, you be in amount regardless
Such day, yea I drink from young blood of ye?
Neigh, it be but ague to your conistution
Slipshod my night, soon but I do.
Engulf our twilight, supersonic blood fights
Into darker green stars we stare
Despair dissipating single thoughts of care
Samurai floodlights, bitter pill is bitten twice
Grit on snow, as my blood simply flows
Wolves surround me, arm is taken freely
Picture all ours, on mountain rocky
Sleep is forbidden here, poisons twice as good for me.
(From the archive)
Caution you weary days
Travelers on their way
From here to work
Or home, they skirt
By buses they are gurt
Glowing lights of night the street comes
Alive with all sorts of frivolity and fun
We see mouse dance and peacock prance
But the buses are back by morning
This is a tale, a tale from the past
A story that’s told, and you know it will last
Listen to the words and you will find, that this story is in all of our minds
A tale that involves a girl in a red hat, who wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
besides her a man whose standing on one leg, leaning against a marbled pole that looks dank
the distance you hear the a sound of beeps, the scream of some birds and a menacing creep
There are lights that flash on and off in the gloom
the gloom of a morning thats not awake
like an old forgotten god whose at the bottom of a lake
meetings are coming, meetings to go to
opportunities not missed by those who known to
circles and cakes, people you meet
people is people who are at your feet
and still the girl who had a red hat, wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
waiting and watching and seeing these things, doesn’t move or know what they mean
and presently a Seagull whose a little bit bored, waddles aimlessly up to this broad
squarks a pertinent inquiry at the rosette crested girl
who looks at it westerly as if shes unwell
the seagull tells her that it is a man, and comes from a island in a very different land
and she doesn’t think or indeed move at all and simply smiles
for miles and miles there wasn’t one person who saw
the seagull and girl fly to the land of man of the swell
Standing in dawn darkness
Outline of a city below harkens
My frigid breath is icy waves
Cascade froth over the cappuccino gaze
Yellow dust flowers spring to life
Wattle, I breathe in its sand castle essence
Danger clouds face me; moon is a crescent
Up beyond a yellow blimp falls
Diners at the street cafe call
It crashes, down like a wet mop
It’s gallon shape flop, flop, flop
The rush, the push and fuss
Brindabellas ancient and old
Long stories they tell and have told
Crush, crush the leaves of late summer fuss
Dry mould, blue fairy Wren, oh gush!
Comfort speaks of me and my red cloak
Under those hills she sometimes yerns
When she’s angry, they burn
I can find her then, just like the Wren.
Will she be ready to join me? Travelling this mortal place?
Not till the oceans boil, and the dark wolf throws his muzzle and gapes
It’s taken all I’ve lost and all I’ve earned to find peace in those words
In the meantime, perhaps I will spend some time
As a blue fairy wren
Dodgers on a street mistreat all they greet Moldy shirtsleeves looking in the dirty earthly thirsty drags
smelt like the strike of blight, no they are not alright
Podgers conjured by the constabulary
thicken the air with their reactionaries
pressed clean curt is their mirth
gelt like the pike of mights, no they are not right
In the new leaves I lookseeing growth makes you think your off the hook
theives takes all they can
no matter how fast you ran
you can’t even remember your grans
memory gone from their nous with haste
kicking the can along the road
crow watches swooping low
crook took it all and your stuck to the roads
they built them like the romans
absent potion to take us from this location
read or seen in the depth of mind blue and black and full of rind
pieces falling over themselves to prove their mine
jumping thumping in that dark clouds or just sitting in simple mounds
some left bereft of wisdom and grace
others given life by the fleshy roots
a tree, kurrajong above sitting in a grove
deep a creek runs smoothly over granite stones
drying yellow grass fields around
black seed pods scattered around the ground
a faint hearted smile from a girl sitting in this tree
singing softly words and thoughts about who she really is
a little altar is nearby, resplendent in dawning lights
decorum forum this autumn festival praxis for that rat flesh underminer
bourgeois terrine poisoned with benzene
on muddy moss rest us all
soul diviner I arrived here
fear this social fetish or is that all we have left to cherish
Madam Bovary
every treasury is a menacing menagerie
factory thunder blinders
hanger allotment, down the street
information forgot that, oh how it reeks
Bleakness in the meekness of my weaknessesgrievances in the darkness
sharpness of my scars
thrust my distrust
in society quietly ebbing this uglyness away
trending on the busway
eucalyptus oil and ledendary threading
thrift shop mending my grifted mops
copping, chopping the dross away
motor floater fished from ocean emotion
devotion of this seating area
brings me memories of Bulgaria
rescue my venue
address the menu I would lent you
knew that true is my crew
through and through
dangerous thunderheads brought on by political blunder headsshreds of all the buildings, stings from hail and crops that failed
will we be able to sail away from this place?
or rebuild to the wee hours?
shelter is in the church tower
doesn’t matter if you are so endowed
cower, from these storms and the winds power
irony of the day that it was some of these believers
procedures that made such a mess of this
climate depression, and the cowering congregation
if it seems that Gaia is angry, perhaps that’s just debris in your supree
this angry orange man
does whatever he can
to take all you care about
twist into a doubt mouth
he’s going to get worse
soon all of us will be in a hurse
dangerous blunder heads brought on by political thunderheads
shreds of men, stings from baileys mail and promises that failed
will we be able to save us?
Dark eyes summon me, from my poetric slumber
Teeth overbiting in a smile that could reach beyond the stars
Not whispering, on the telephonic möbius, composing a opus of friends
Bananas are sitting on the bus bench, left and owner absent
We make many roofs red, or black or white. I’m coming to understand why
Coming up with poems on the fly, in a attempt to seem sly
Gripping stronger
burnout cars
I’m floating around mopeds
Such a little thing that can decide lives
Upon us the great moth of time
Flashing the light from the hard campfire time
As weeping Angels creep in the dark
Plumbing thrones miss a mark
Old guitars out of tune
Bursary counting calories to the moon
Thicker than a brick
Trickier and a blink
Choose a meme
Then get chocked in the green
With but a floral pocket, a socket of a constant battle. In this context a person could be expected to converge a certain way. I’m sure that such things can be brought from a different point of view. I’m sure.
It a decision that on the first step is like exiting a place by one open door or another. Not overly important in any other context. A prom dress is waiting in the wild for me. It’s colors and make a uniqueness of presence and form that I will adorn.
Quest, quest forbids them full knowledge of this game. A woman who has to be dressed and doesn’t care for shame. I’m sorry for that mother, I knew you thought you brought me up another way. Not one to be such pretty closeted views to clothes or any one thing possessed by the few.
Analysts of my thoughts, this last class of course, would but be only to give away such things. Hark, I listen and hear that deer bell ring. A voice from such as sweetness of the little diodes, was but the benefit offered by ears in a certain pry mode.
Here I go. I’m in my car, driving sensually on the road as I know my papa. Whom would seek that if such a lady as myself drove a car as old as this car, drove as a woman with purpose and par. The night I do stop at a best western, three star.
I’m short a money grabber, which is not one thing I fear. I have the credit, and mash the gears. Apon the acceleration of highway eight, here was a little tiny mouse who was a bit to late.
On to the road again. Along the tired ways. A monkey on a bucket marks the disposer of my dress, a garish display. I’m not early, not late or not quite enough, I’m just in time to get the dress and some snuff.
Here is the purple, dress you did order. God I wish I had such good things when I was younger. I’m sure to dispense pleases and questions. I’m hurrying to get into a try the work of this old costume thespian.
I’m into the dress, three threads shorter than I remember. Perfect though, in every other way a splendor. My brain, seeking the truth, quickly sends the best freind for proof.
In seconds does they reply, hart eyes and thumbs up in a emotional laugage phones make not rare. I’m impressed and assured. The dress is takeb and paid for.
I’m all ready for the night. My girl, my girl, who will share it by consensual lesbian might. I’m sure to be sure it’s easy to take off for the kissing of the pear.
A painful hat, fedora sat on subordinates
Greasy success, with hazardous guessing inordinate
Juggling poodles, surgery of noodles in a cave
I’m a succulent succumbing, individuality for universally
Align the moon angels, on heat
Summoning ringside seats, singing plumbers who have fatburgs
Dying city, with none to morn her
Gallah pasta salad, for me. What will you have?
Starting as a grain of sand in amoungst the tame man. I’m liquidity in a search for Piccadilly amoungst all the crown lilies. Down from using highs, but like a balloon still tied. Cry? I’m not going to be shy. Making a little shirt, on the first night of a solar burst. Leave me be, on the ground and in the trees. You wounder if it’s punctuated, solideirs on the front abated. Peaking through the frost and droughts, my mother and her rainbow mouth. Tiles from tooths of lions and bears, we don’t have any other things to spare. Culling my sands and thoughts, I’m a goat in a tree of throughout the most recent emotes.
Serving upon the teas that warm the cockles of my knees. I’m lost to the tastes of the blood moon, or is it this moldy borrowed bottle of goon? Sitting in the sandy beach, we take a swig each. I’m almost naked down to my feet, your eyes look like you want something to eat. It’s just a horrid ocean peak, and soon down the street. I’m sure they will all wake at dawn, but I’m drawn to the crook of your welcome arms. Tiguan driving in the streets, is this someone who will be there to recognize the keep? It’s just a relative, whom like all of our moments of monkey primes, chime as bells on a dime.
Venturesome super bikes, roaming the highways without lights. I’m on your back, still naked as I was to the fact. You drive slowly as the fuel is low, and a place to go find is waiting. Is their something baiting, a man who is waiting? It’s a played high, game on a right. Dawn is about to light your face. I’m sorry but I can no longer wait. Amoungst all the fields and grains, a farm barn and gate sitting and waiting as if it’s ready for our sins.
Right in the dawn light, the bikes out of fuel but not our watering flowers. So, into a broken lock and dawn greets your breasts like a tounge. It’s ok, that she shares our lust, it’s not quite like she can do anything else but light our pure lust. Down the barn, into the slight darkness and soft touches thus. I’m all ready to be with you, in must. Genteel prickles, first and you’ve found a old rope, tie my legs as I jokingly try to run. I’m teasing, tease, I grab your thumbs. Shoveling clamshell ways, then licking them with a sticky tounge. In seconds we have both come, and come again. I’m not going to spoil this, is what I call fun.
Down den
Frenzy pen
Elite men
All in a cave parade
Great gelding
Meldly meats
Opus beats
All in a cave parade
Southern seas
Tounges deeply
Hammer beating
All in a cave parade
Its a cave parade
Deeply powerful them
Hide from bombs and wrath
While for us that’s that.
