I Gave You Tired Flowers (In The Stained Glass Evening)

You have the wary crackle
Of radio in war time
Uncertain of whom listens, and
Whom exactly speaks
In formal pronunciations
Desperate and resigned
As slowly burning ships

What do you recommend
For half-life —neither exactly
Celebration, nor lament
Mostly, perhaps
At resolve’s inordinate delay
A smirk, exasperated
With brown sugar and cinnamon 
Baby’s breath, aspidistra, nectarines
Gone overripe —soft
As waning summer—
For the intoxicating scent
Arranged in a chimera
Of cellophane as nauseating as breaking glass

Well, we all have something to sell
The static hard dismay
Just perhaps not quite
Drunk as wilted flowers
Pretty but
The stain indelible


You say

morning people

aver the sun

spilt homilies from

hands bent to dismiss

for too long

I refuse to let things pass

jealousies, an arc weld heat

the bronze, once globulous and molten

rigid in that deceptive, ugly shape

of desert rivers 

I will lay here

for a thousand years

inconsolate as sand

until I almost evaporate

still, that mica glint

when you pass and

almost catch my eye


as bright as drowning

once again

By The Rail Creek I Wait, My Pomegranate Crush

The rumours have you, anger brilliant 
At my peril, I of course misdoubt 

Rain falls like wolves
Chasing lithe bare earth
In gouged ochre
Upraised in spirals

There is a smell of rags and cans
Of death and lightning
As if the carcass, ripe for burning, summoned storms

We cross in the weft, to a greased unconsciousness
Hollow where the water
Flows through mouths like fishes
A jar of reeds to catch
A kind of stillness 

At last you come
Out of a yellow evening
Leeches bright on your skin
Offering in swollen fists
Broken pomegranates

Not for me, not, for me
A cattle stink
The dragonflies drone out
A passing train

i have come to watch you drown, not catch a fish 

heliconias & a winter sea

we squall

in the intimacy

of suddenly thrown rain

the fricate quieting, our humdrum metronome

where you watch (turned aside) an august ocean

spills in folly, the rampart swallowing seawall

thinking, perambulations, of the fools, deluged

silhouettes a regnant weight

calving waves with palsied lips

pared in the slingshot grin

between teeth girt, a swollen silence

past the nodding arcs

of grandiose reverberations

where you cast them

to the stone

in petulant pantomime

through a wild sea

the heliconias are flying

Through Glass, Brightly

Inelegant metaphors 

strained at the bit

From inside

an insect gnawing


when the mandibles broke the skin


that disgruntled earth

a machine that 

mouthfuls spat

Curled to a walnut shape

heat escapes 

through scalp and anus

as if we were

some alien


obtuse kind of planet

The sites

of old injuries buckle first

bicycle crash, careless menagerie

a slight body weight 

elastic in collision

where once you flew

cleats and laurels

over the minotaur

a monster gnawing

at your thumb and wrist 

the crabbing slew

gravity’s sidelong spill

an arced trajectory

the stoic, downturned face

a theatre of cheap betrayals

enmeshed, the jackboot heart

where the andiron slipped

an upstart fire lick

the doorway guillotining

in the inadvertent pneumatic hiss

dull magnetic eye

through the safety glass

as if the web and constellation 

of all things, in the enfilade of your dismay

so easily fell apart

Pulled at the thread


A red crochet like love around your wrists


The red earth graze

on your chin

makes your tilted face

round like the world

An iceberg tooth

incites my lip

as if I were set adrift

colliding, capsized, lost

(tethered nevertheless)

in your unforgiving latitudes 

Brow cool

and fever dry

as any 

brazen templed sunset

 I suppose I must be the yellow dog moon

with my lopsided grin

bridled on a half-mouthed horizon

changing my mind

(and back again)

a creep closer and dark

with each circumnavigation 


when you gently

bite my face

I start to die again

When I Was A Dog

For the reassurance of your face
Jaw thrust forward, a monstering
Marionetted palsy
Of strings and pinions
Inexpertly manipulated
I met you once
In another world
Ate a stale biscuit
Threw it up again
The sky in soot and butter
Curlicues and approbations
When I was a dog, for a while
Glass house, all lies, no windows
Barked at the moon
At her silver mockery 
Barked again, in the dark 
When she was gone
Stars like tears 
The poet said
But I was just a dog
Alone and
Not done howling

From the isthmus of my eye

The wound is sunset
      volcanic glass

           the sea

       between the cradle

      in the lee
    a swell
stretched in a glimpsed hiatus

The cigarette burn you left
                 still brightly watching

         from the harbour
of my chest

A ship with nowhere
but this destination 

You said sorry, how you slumped
burnt copper dreaming slept
the way old lighthouses do

The fabric holing
with that mesmer’s grace

Spilling ash and flickered thoughts
the glare clenched in the spasm of your fist
gone wave break lax

     for salve a sting, the glassy shine
        of long past knotted healing

 The grain of sand
    in the isthmus of your eye
  all that remains

    in a different glass
(still wide awake)

Of the beach I dreamed


I thought I saw 
In the dulled cement
Of your sink
The reflected ire
Of death’s autumn moon
The fading red
Of haloed leaves, and last summer’s fires
As if the light
Had slowed to a dirge
But, your windows were opaque
Rippled glass, an upraised sea
The spilled chalk of erosion’s residues
Just me, and a hand-sized moth
Tenaciously still, against a drunken tide
Knowing, I am almost dead
While you disdain
Our silent worshipping