so will we hear them when they break in
will we be awaken                      screaming


in autumn, in winter
that’s when they straighten backbones you know
that’s when the fingers slip
it’s the reoccurring switch
they trailed traces of splinters behind
and plucked off bits of grass.
rippled from the catamaran
the little blonde things and paleo bars
we still have skid marks to follow us
and alert eyes drifted off to the side
so do you remember how big they get, i
never knew how big they get
there’s been hundreds so far you just
haven’t noticed
i guess we take it and leave it running
because they built the estate round here real quick
and this little slip road is always flooding
nothing a town planner mom doesn’t know
but this is shared space
isn’t it, isn’t this
isn’t this the milestone
left passionfruit flowers
on it’s own


Speak it from the storm, now, son    And mouth it
Mahabhuta and our air and earth
We’re twinkling
we’re in spirals, we’re light feathers
So   Why       do you keep running?
you want to keep it from the clear claws
and keep it from the stone awash, the pus of the pop
its milky vomit
Think it’s been inside you all along
net covers from the summer sun
and the buzz of the hum and emerald stone
Do you really think you can have us
Think you can keep us displayed, windows
Think we’re only meant to be hung from second floors
Think it’s only real when you’re down at splendour
but we’re elementary
and you need to stop stealing
I think we’re the sand of the sea
breathing through skin and


Above Paint Flicks

The count of rectangles on drywall like  So many others that have come before
Brought silence with familiarity  but  Destructible so
We Tear This House Down Together
We’ve Built With Bricks of Bodies Littered
In The Mess of the Interim
With the love we tried to pulley out
From the drenches and flooded supplies
To feed the masses
To quieten their riots
And not enough
And not enough

Penning the contraries and moving opposite
I’m sure our ghosts still fill the footsteps when we
Hollow them out
And blink in numbers or oddly timed tags

There is a swallow and built spit
So          Don’t spell it out for them

I’ve Stopped Thinking About Friday Nights

there                                                                          is the stretch and muscle release, it’s on your door
this house is too quiet i hate the roommate i hate the roommate             she never smiles
i want to stop daydrinking and i want to ride bikes
count all the weekends we’ve lost     to rosters                                                                       this is hard
i never see you and what we do isn’t cool i work better under a deadline and i’ve run out of metaphors
this is real and i see you                                                              but we don’t know how to have fun

six should be six should be seven, should be waiting
do the countdown                        , put the x in the box
stop skipping,                                too many          hours
it’s all listed                                                    all electronic
and play catch-up on the weekly with no breaks and
no                                                                          complaints
watch it with a smile on your face      and  compress
it’s either too much or             unread.                    stop
it.                                                     there’s too many lines