"Chili me up" she said
"Hot sauce my swamp"
"Skin my beaver"
"Skin my soul"
"Burn my dreams down"

"Carve my pride"
"Let serpents have their head"
"Taste my fountain"
"Taste the youth"
"Bring my nightmare home"

"Squeeze my desire"
"Burn my reptile husk"
"Haunt my now"
"Haunt my then"
"Keep all things secret"





She said she knew it all along deep down inside between the truth and a thing called love.
She could have swept it under a carpet
it could have swept her off her feet.








Old harlot of nothing
sweet soiree in nowhere.
Her boa could be hopes dragged train-like across sodden floors
her favours fleeting moments in the drunkards mind between sips of reality
between cries for more.









This Goddess so unhuman, so unholy
sprouting phallic dreams
urging abstraction, complete abandonment.
Feel her heat
taste the elixir of her sex.
She never waits nor asks
never hides nor shames.





The rain stopped for a minute.
I blinked
the sun winked back then hid like the truth and a million deluded dreams.






Oh tender muse touch my skin with your icy innocence.
You sing "Hallelujahs" on my stoop
eyes shine with promise.

This urge in it's bed rolls unsleeping
a nightmare in it's fruition.
I hold its head in my hands
I still the wicked ways.







May gold glory laugh until there is silhouette
us twilight scythe mere innocent beauty.
Send naked ballerina
whirl smooth philosophy
hate thirst.

Lithe diamond wave
witch or turquoise pomegranate?

Always, ever.

Ghost dawn
wisdom skeleton.

Shine nightingale paradise Hollywood harlot, scarlet Shakespeare
melt open, grow.






Cigarettes lay in ashtrays doubled over in the pain of expiration
not half of what they were.






She screams "I hate you"
I reply "that's cool"
it's communication, that's more than we had before.
She counts the pieces of the anger she throws
I cast a smile
greet the shadows as I close the door.
She fills the window with her silent sorrow
wipes the tears on that old shirt I bought.







The kids blow snot back over sulphate crystals to the footpath
on the mobile
fashionably late.
The dog-chain keeps a wallet attached
my haunches start to ache
I write uncomfortable.

They live in the dark caverns hung to the walls by hooks of cool
slouching such a statement

And a kiss upside the neck
she's his
just keep walking.







A football boot lays on the grass.
I can see it's sole
and its tongue is hanging out.
It flew for seconds like the rock hove by David before Goliath could take no more.
Only this boot stopped nothing
no war.
There were no fables of greatness
it just sat and waited.







Such soft sweet murmur
"Not here"
"Not now"
We can go no further.

The age of all things
So precious
So calamitous
As my darkness sings

Furrow trenched into the brow
Of worry
Of wonder
A fiery supernova of now

That hands alone allay
About a face
About a self
Velveteen gloves now gone away.

A night guest finding me
How lost?
How familiar?
Sharing the gratis, set free.

" Gingersnaps cunt would remain unobtainable forever" thought Big Boy as he drove just fast enough to keep thoughts like these at bay, until the nubile had appeared clutching her dog to her breasts, "Oh those breasts and those legs and buttocks", so revealed by her barely there bikini, some Hawaiian print excuse for near-nudity repeated on beaches around the world and backyards with pools, and without, that he'd visited so long ago as to be another existence, when perhaps it was, for Big Boy had changed, so sober now as to be a threat to the memories held in the minds of those he'd known all those years before, when even he had paraded in his smugglers, unknown, before younger eyes than his, in his prime of life, ignored, derided for even thinking he might be worth a second look, or a dream, that became a fantasy, over fingers that knew exactly where to find that thing that must be found in us all, that part we all have but is seldom uncovered to the knowing of even the best of our friends, whose words were heard but then denied for aspersions that suited far better, that suited needs as well as hopes, as well as egos that wouldn't be dented by neglect, or lack of suitability, the needs screamed to the Heavens so loudly that shock prevailed as to why a quiet prayer wasn't heard at appropriate times, for this was an imploring through desperation when only they would do, when you struggle and struggle to find something smart or humorous to say or write, to find that something that some-one might notice and applaud, as applause you have given when perhaps not earnt, as mere support to a failing cause, to a cause bound with secrecy, a cause so high-falluting that the general public are not admitted, are not wanted to sully the merest suggestion of acceptance, a suggestion so sincere as to become an outline beneath white cloth, her name hung at a desperate angle unable to be read without implying crudity or even that most harmful of traits voyeurism, where no-one but the lowest of the low enjoy pornography, which hidden beneath a soundtrack to our lives, if lives are so full of beauty and obvious allure, is just Big Boy setting loose the dogs of his condition to ponder all and sundry, as all and sundry are driven to ponder not what they should but what they're told, as sameness overtakes differences, as fingerprints ebb and flow to reveal our similarities, our fear at being stuck in the everyday rut of suburban nightmares that don't go anywhere except back to where they were yesterday and will be tomorrow, dreams that memories will be enough to get us through our lives that last decades passed when the debts are paid, when the photos are faded, no longer stuck in albums but pinned to boards at home and at work so all can see how active we've been while grass grew under the very feet of those that wouldn't move even if disaster had found them, causing a strain on minds so numb as to resemble intoxication, which seems never to be far from their minds, and could the mind of one become with a blink the mind of another or even a crowd intent on the kill or desecration of something sacred, something worshipped again in secret for the fear of ridicule at the mere mention of that name, when names had not been swapped in front of the man-of-the-minute because they looked so cute, almost identical, sister and brother, loving as siblings should but a little further than is allowed by decency, she then a victim of her own popularity and a decision to love them all before she was done, to rekindle legends, the feats of superstars, so drunk on their own self-importance as to die an unnatural death, "Pity the poor fuckers" came to mind as Gingersnaps one appearance outside the safety of responsibility came back into mind, when a tattered pair of pants had seen her on display, shopping for ingredients that weren't to be found in Big Boy's basket, a number proffered then left forgotten in a bowl of keys and pens and 8-ball replicas, 3-d glasses and a roach or two, dead and dessicated, their grime like a fine black dust that covered entire surfaces of a mind intent on cleanliness being next to Godliness, as if you can get closer to a God, where jism is baulked at so "I guess sex is out of the question"?, where ones nipples had hardened at the thought of of his explosive orgasm, that might douse her tits and, if lucky, her face, hardened from the years she's put into being in just such a position, over and over it came, over and over again, her posed just so, her audience waiting beyond her imaginings, beyond her reason for being there in the first place, so lost in that time already mentioned as belonging now to history, where this is just the stream of one man's consciousness become a torrent of regret and mishap, where people never left well-enough alone, and with some illnesses one is never alone and can live without the admittance of outside interference from those needing to keep what they will always want to themselves and their chosen few, even if they be strangers just met over a mirror or brief phone conversation that set down rules and guidelines that never existed for this kind of thing, where it's anything goes, is shed with clothing and the knowledge of being there at all, because Big Boy wasn't there and has made it all up from fragments of what he'd heard and been gifted by quickness of sight, or oversights on the part of others who didn't realise just how he worked, he too aloof to get involved unless invited specifically, because rejection is so painful when reason is absent, when desire is a one-way street without arrows as a guide as to direction, without the policing of an authority that might impose it's will and make direction known, as unavoidable, "Because under their circumstances your whims do not mean that much to us", where her promise to herself meant they all had to fall in line and tow her desire, her future, her families existence, her good name even, up for scrutiny by those intelligent enough to ask of religious fervour, of "Just where does the money come from"?, dealings kept from the glare of the public-eye until too late to do anything about, where celebrities avoid the full extent of the law, and the obvious place to look is right under their noses, in their own backyards, where accidents happen if not intended as anything else, where breaths need to be taken if this stream is to be swum alive, where it's currents try to drown, it's calm becoming a rage, it's appearance deceptive to the uninitiated who'd jump right in and go for broke, who'd stroke into it's midst and be drawn down to the depths of no recovery, where it might take an entire existence to balance karma, that even the simple know about and spout as a mantra in search of a reason, because of course they've done no wrong, they were merely born into this world and now have to suffer because until their being confronted with disaster they had no idea of this alternative to God who they can blame for all their sorrow and loss............

I just saw a pair of black panties atop a seat pedal passed my window view as if I didn't care
when in fact I do
enough to note it here and now
to let all those who might take thew time to read my words, that echo my thoughts, that are a response to my world
which seems so big and yet is as small as it could be
when before it seemed so big without thinking about it
when behaviour must have limited me to a den
where iniquity was around and about
and about was as close as you'd come to a meaning
to a pair of black panties skating on ice
thinly veiled as a safe place to venture
locking you down and into something you might regret were you able to think that far
as far was distant
and time didn't speed like light
and quick was what your eyes had to be to even glimpse Heaven being pedalled by.






If only they were 50 years younger but loved me just as much as they do in their age
a bevy of Nannas cheering me on for deeds of kindness.







I can see her bra through her shirt
and if I wait and she leans the right way I might spy more.
I might spy her slope of Heaven as it leans away from her shoulder to be cupped just so in silken comfort.

Slipping passed did I notice how small her bum looked in those
that must have been chosen for just that effect
to stun
and then to kindle dirty thoughts
of how her hair hung down.

She shares her space with another
both clamouring to be hospitable to a mere me.







Close your eyes after your giggle as I flashed a joke at you
that no-one else saw
or would even get if they did
as if it's special between us.
The things I know and can dream over
the things I don't that I can invent and find satisfaction in
when I was "The man with the plan"
and she was drunk enough to cheat
while he hung on for dear life and realised what he had.









She wasn't good looking enough to need to duck into the chemist for condoms
tampons she'd need as a matter of course
but my truth would hurt her to her face about her lack of elegance
her dumpy
almost like a woman me.
But she could never be that hungry
as I am
as I ate and ate.

Was I satisfied?
The cranial chemicals mixed in my blood with the food in my gut to tell me " How the fuck would I know"?
"Let it settle over coffee"

While their two bottles of wine went home empty
his bad habits the habits of the darker of us when the fairer of us is concerned
and even the youngest of them have grown a camel-toe that they can push forward in all innocence as if they don't know.

Away from the violence love has bloomed for two unchallenged
before I'd seen his kind assailed with threats of "Kung Fu" over Cold Rock ice cream
with more mates than the White Pages could fill a life with
all drunk with patriotism and the certainty that they'd be safe with the world watching on, guarding their backs against defeat.

Through the town
though too early to be called going out even if out plenty were
them the normal ones enjoying sundown and grog in company
the "social lube" it's called that gets a smile from the hardened who'd inked up my arm
that mother can't see
though I'm sure she's not blind.
While another form of blindness struck him that staggered across the traffic
as he swayed
and swayed back
then found the arrow as permission to cross when the button was needed.

Now I hear songs that sing of the drink
as if it's necessary
like their claims on the Poet
as if to be requires more than words in form
as if the claim in general is not the ego tripping
when all it brings is trouble and doubt regardless of how noble the precedent might be.

A wise man doubts the sincerity of Judas as he kisses her away from his memory with the lips of another

Her phone sits warming against a breast that's intent on slipping into view because she under-dressed it again
it hides behind a tissue that might clean up his mess from her chin
or just wipe away a nose as my fantasy flies off at the handle.
Different fantasies now to the one she'd been warned against at 3 in the morning
me a staggering stranger finally home from the war.
As if words can kill
when bullets are found to be far more effective.

And by now she's probably found a taker for her condoms
the inebriated not known for their fuss
and when it's over her she's happy and in love for a time
and won't complain if time doesn't last beyond tomorrow
beyond the chorus of the last song on her favourite cd to be in love to.

I'm sure the singer just called me a "Bastard" but I've misheard lyrics before and thought they conveyed words I'd never found for myself
words they obviously never understood with me in mind
because we were so young
and things should just have happened like they do in movies instead of needing room in which to grow
room in which to be private in such a public way
where we all know the ending before it happens
and the silence comes because the song is over,