it comes around

Christmas paper soggy

from the son lost a few days ago.

She couldn’t throw the present away now,

this time of year was wasteful enough already.

She noticed;

her hands wouldn’t stop shaking,

her stomach wouldn’t stop contracting.

Across the street a different house,

a different feeling.

Two lovers just announced

they’re getting married.


Rainbows lit up across the country

and it was like a loose brick in the wall

had finally slid back into place.

You could feel the energy

but then you hear these everyday conversations…

“You’re a dumb whore cunt, wish I’d never met you way back when.”

“Aboriginals, not half a brain between the lot of them.”

They’re breaking down the mortar

so the erosion doesn’t go away.

I don’t know how to stop it.


It’s important to learn about darkness.

Not so you can find the right way,

just so you can survive.

You can light a little candle

in a circle around yourself,

you can pull others in but only for a short time.

They’ll breathe all the oxygen in

and eventually

one of you will be alone again.


(In the blinding light

of the realisation of my life

I saw you’d gotten a move on

and I hadn’t budged in so long.

It was alright, I was learning to be laid back.)


What is it about the colour purple?

It won’t tell me

if it’s happy or sad,

reminds me of the battle fought

inside my own head.

For years now it’s up and down,

I’ve always managed to keep it down.


(Walking in the dark with my dog,

on a deserted bike path,

I can feel ten feet tall.

I can feel wild and strong.

I see nothing for miles

except the lights in the distance

of the cars going

places they think are more meaningful than mine.)


In the moments of respite

where the only movement is a leaf

falling to the ground

you’ve got to wonder

if you stayed there forever

and let yourself fade away,

would it be peaceful,

would it be a better way to go

than fighting all the way down the line

until you’re too tired and old

to do it anymore?



to the betrothed

The sweet chirp of a parrot at the feeder

seems as innocent as your love.

When it breathes,

exhales pure oxygen.

When it clicks,

It doesn’t scrape.

There is no friction.

In this fusion

I see no confusion,

it pairs better than lemonade.


So much trust,

any storm that tried to rust it

would be exhausted.

You never have to force it.

A smooth union

I can base all my hope on.

A hand in the dark,

glowing like a flare.


A dam of love retention

swells with my attention.

The adoration emanating from your skin

and the gaze of child to idol,

are akin.

Makes me wonder

how I can rid all the tension

from within.


Open faces

hide nothing.

I’ve looked a thousand places,

not many will share that look.

An open book,

a pleasure to read.

You turn the pages

from one joy to another.

Delights that last

for ages.

Like an open window,

I see the spots I would go

if I could understand how you got there.


Each moment only takes it higher

for me to admire.

So much better

than me.

I doubt my mind will ever be that clear,

but for my heart

I will never say never.


It keeps me going

through the times I sit crying

about; all the things in the world dying,

all the people who are lying,

all the ones who struggle so hard

are barely just surviving,

all the values that need reviving

but everyone’s stopped trying.


The density and magic of hurtloam,

the intensity and comfort of feeling at home,

the guarantee of not being alone.

The golden taste of the season’s first fruit

reminds me of the smiles I see shared

between you.

I smile too.

I know,

in your hands

the world will be safe.