Stolen Youth

I stole a child today,
from a life she was set to lead,
adorable innocence standing, eyes wide, hair clean,
put her in my pocket and snatched her away from a mundane world,

Showed her the city skyline ablaze with lights, reflecting purple haze across the skyscraper sights
took her for magic carpet rides on the floor on my living room rug,
Held her close,
Made her honey on toast,
with butter dribbling down her chin,

Taught her foreign tongues, and the madness of the imagination
Saw her first successful bubblegum bubble,
and her first whistle,
Built the tallest card castle, and then knocked it down,
And danced in the rain -
yes,
danced in the rain,
like our lived depended on it,
like the clouds were performing for us,
like the clash on the crash was the thunder and
the strobe of the lightening was lighting our night,
As each puddle shivered,
As each pellet splashed our faces,
laughing in the face of cold and wetness,

Held her hand,
Listened to classic rock
she should have known,
before the boy made her feel small,

Gave her a gold fish in a round bowl,
to realise the subjectiveness of reality,
And the tangible is ephemeral.
It sparks out, and dies,
like all beauty,
like all things
end.

Stood facing into mirrors,
so she would see how she'd grow,
into me,
to be
a little girl chasing butterfly and boys all her life.


rubber band man

The man rebounded, tennis ball on elastic,

trampolining through another heart

in order to repair his own,

Vicious cycles of like attracts to like,

Relief sighed through his shoulders,

that she didn't love him,

need him,

forsee a future for them,

temporary recklessness suited them bother,

use each other,

balance against,

counter,

till strength returned,

and blinders would fall

and for the first time,

in a long time

he'd see he wasn't alone at all. 

snowglobe

you invaded with pruning shears,
secateuring your self in unsuspicious friendship,
into my heart,
seeped into my habbits, steeping in the liquid of my life,
becoming quietly important,
solidly permament,
in context.
Don't break out,
I hold you in a seperate snowglobe of security,
don't disappear, or invade my bubble,
I'll visit yours,
It suits me better. 

Moon Echo Morning

Breathe in, out.
exhale night on morning air,
           moon dreams on light
and hear,
bird songs and wake up calls
and snooze late alarm bells
and early appointment nightmares and...
                 stop.
skim your leg across his waist,
drape yourself,
skin on smooth skin
lips, not quite touching,
bodies, not quite solus
eyes, not quite closed.

Breathe in, out.
finger paint lazy figure-8s on his chest,
as it rises,
               and falls,
he brushes your cheek
feather light
touches your lips
slow
kisses your eyelids
tender

hard not to feel naked, watched, admired,
with feather light gentleness on a moon echo morning,
difficult not to want more,
                   not go faster
                   not push stronger,

but this burns longer, you say



hassle house

A husband lied to his wife this morning,
         5 o’clock shadow cast across his lips
Still poised open
         As his eyes flicked sideways.

A sister went to school sick to the stomach,
Fearful of staying home,
           of being a hassle
           In a house of hassles
And cracks above doors that slammed

The boy who played cricket left handed
Left silently, like usual
After sleeping silently,
         Living silently

Tucking under his left arm,
His four leaf clover collection
in a postage stamp album,
He ran away from this hassle house
And never said goodbye

The house sat in the city
By the park that measured time by the back and forth of the swing set
and the light that blinded off the silver slide at 4 in the afternoon.
People played and fought
Made love and sandcastles and dinner and lies.
Told secrets.
Threw tennis balls
                           and sticks and stones insults
And tantrums.
Heart beating,
Children breathing
Passionate life,

It all surrounded the hassle house this morning

Surrounded a lying husband, sick sister and silent boy

each following their calling, each falling as Alice down the rabbit hole,

making life altering decisions, with little thought,

because this was the only path,

And it looked straight from the road.

she couldn't lie and he asked difficult questions

Broke through small talk constructs,
Knew her face through story board life lines
Key points and summerised chapters
He was the exception to the rule,
The trust singular
Couldn't stroke the cheek or grasp the secure embrace,  but each could hold their stories straight.
Would not break,
Fixed and permanent
Constancy, amongst the mockingbird world

Mind

Stranger you are
                  -stranger than me.
in that way, everyone is.
what thought migrate across your mind,
do they ricochet? pinball style.
do they flow?
Do they move in
          saccades      stochastically      st--turring
their way through,
are they firm?
fixed?
honey?
Plasticine?

Mind
I Mind.
Yours is sex to me
let me arouse your mind,
I mind.

Turn me on with theoretical physics and philosophically conclude.
Argue right wing economics and left wing politics
and that
intelligence is beauty,
beauty is intelligence.

Tease me,
I'll rise to it,

thwack it back, relaying wit until its thick in the air,
until sarcasm and superiority hang in the air,
like unwelcome tobacco smoke.
Mind me,
home in arms long enough to encircle my spirit.
it's big.
stranger,
we've never spoken
romance is fabrication
carry on with your book,
and don't mind me.

cool
wet,
interlocking chains,
held beneath
cool
wet
interlocking fingers,

Seated, on thick rubber,
kicking woodchips with absent-minded abandon.
places, phases
chapters in life,
locations
are warped by memory
of years of self produced propaganda
Reinforced bad days by added gloomy weather.

On reminiscing, music disappears - lost sounds dim and smell rises.
Of food and sweat and soap and sunscreen
of petrakor
the smell of rain on dust.  

Discover you,
adventurous explorer me
mapping your moods, your faults,
to see the unmasked hero
weakness
don't be an open book
a face-value man.

Have to run a mile before I give an inch
but
if you get even an inch
you have me,
I'm yours
hook line and sinker
lover
loyal
I don't trust easily,
I fall hard
graze my hands and knees when I hit the 'in love' concrete mentality.
But I've always been running on netball courts.

Shower

We shower for longer now,
as children protesting water -
become adults who
demand it.
Shower longer, scrub harder,
later soap into sinful crevices and
dirty surfaces.
Shave growth,
wash away the dirt of the day
of a life that never used to leave you
                    unclean
Stand in the downpour, as the tears fall, silent splashes in a room of splashed,
melding into shower water,
condensing,
diluting,
washed away so quickly,
they were never really there.

You lied,
and uttered truth,
on hesitant mouth,
that closed in slow motion
                                         afterward
As if trying to take them back,
eat words,
that had already spat out,
fallen out,
tumbled and hit an unsuspecting witness
weakness or strength?
Should have lied to protect her,
told the truth to warn her.
and now they both exist on concepts of reality
that are not
                  full
And forgiveness is hard to find. 

You can't fight it,
can't hide it
can't lie and say you like it.
your face is sick green with envy,
you want him.
not all of him.
but now,
you know his choice,
his condition,
his thought process in meaningful indecision,
you realise that he doesn't belong to you,
doesn't want to
does what he wants to do.
And he knew.
what you thought,
your carefree demeanour doesn't fool strangers,
let alone him.
He knows you better,
has held you truthfully
has treated you brutally.

you've always had a type.

100s and 1000s

I'd knocked it over,
the jar I'd filled with all my hope.

It scattered across the floorboards - scittered,
like 100s and 1000s
full of colour
individually insignificant
but sweet.

I cupped my hand,
and tenderly scrapped them up,
flutted my hand,
streaming them into their broken jar,
ruined now, couldn't consume.
but the memory was important.
shattered glass fragments cut my hand,
my fault.
an accident
time to rebuild.

the text

venomous spit, flew,
through fingers, hammered
words texted, not spoken
with the force of fingers on typewriter - dusty.
message sent.
There, it was done.
echo heart, breaking,
occurred bus stops away.
defeaned.
made teeth rattle
eyeballs ache.
One particle. A truth.
hurtled at his heart.
he'd cry, he'd die.
he'd learn to love again.

OktoberFest

He walks,
teeters, dazed,
glazed,
hands held parallel to the ground,
tap dancer hands
balance, precarious footing on horizontal earth,
                    walks to the sappling,
still growing,
still pushing itself through the earth,
dirt and excrement,
falling, churning,
by its side

His friends jeer, encourage,
taunt,
point a lens at him,
timeless, fixed,
he clasps the sappling - thin trunk in tight fist -dancer's hands,
vomits his last meal on it's base,
           
All the alcohol of the day-
laughter sickness, self-inflicted poisonous fun,
rushes out, gushes out, in the sun
5:00 on a spring fling afternoon,
where the grass is still fresh,
still green and clean

As vomit splashes his sneakers.

6am

6am.
I wake; to the vibrations of my alarm clock
I fumble with its buttons,
pressing snooze, by mistake, on purpose.

I dream of my father - a dream in which we know he's about to die
And joke about his funeral,
And his illness like they are funny
Like they are punchlines
Not deadlines.

7am
My alarm wakes me again,
the sun is setting fire to my apartment wall.
I am asleep.
I want to be asleep,
I clench my eyes shut and try to recreate the moment,
Pull the covers over my head
block out time passing.

It is the past -
it is a world of family and love,
And infinite possibilites.
Where the future holds hope,
hope of my father holding my hand on my wedding day,
or holding his grandchild,
or his cup of coffee on a cool spring morning.

Of holding onto life, of witnessing it,

But despite my best efforts, the world is not in my dreams
And I must face the day - not clench my eyelids,
tap my heels
whispering
"There's no place like home."

Men

You'd forgotten, hadn't you?

That they are flesh,

That they scar and burn and bleed -

as we do.

They seem so strong, for so long, can cause so much,

longing, tears, frustrating, indecisive, conflicting anguish, 3:00 in the morning, naked outside your room and calling.

                                          pain.

But we can do it too,

lock them out of our hearts with as litttle care,

with diminished opinions and defensive believing,

that we don't want to hurt them,

That you don't want to hurt him.

But you do.

And all you asked for was the truth

All you wanted was that -

and now you don't answer his calls

because you haven't finished stitching all the lies together

into a quilt,

that kept you cold before.

And you know it, 

Know how to break a heart now, 

How to stop its persistant loyalty - I mean - He did it to you so well, 

and now you pay it forward. 

Like you swore you never would, 

like you achingly vowed you never could, 

and the selfish thing is what you do

-protect yourself

You can never rely on a cold quilted lie to do it for you.  

A Loved Situation

Woman, what are you doing?
I can see you building a house you've already moved into.

That's not how it works,
you can't find yourself in a loved situation and scramble to fabricate your romance in time for bad weather.

I can see you, still peeling off the wallpaper of your last attempt at a constructed relationship,
where you had simply covered up the holes from the last attempt,
left with paste enough to just hold yourself together.

I know you're not bleeding anymore -
and that old house doesn't fit you at all
-but be careful about building a new one,
you're still on the same foundations

And you've rented other peoples hearts,
and people have rented yours,
unclean feet on your doorstep.
For a time.

And I know how much this house seems necessary,
safe, secure
and jeez, you deserve a roof over your head,

But do you know what you are building?
You're changing so fast.
And just because it will be good,
does not make it a natural fit.
Might not be the right one,

Might have cracks between roofing tiles where the storm can get in and no doors and windows
                                                     Don't forget doors and windows, 
                                                           you know you always do. 

Interconnected thoughts on jigsaw puzzles

Circling thoughts of rings and interconnected thoughts on jigsaw puzzles.
"This is my universe," he said, as they lay, tessellated, moulded, curved into each other,
"It obeys me."
And the stars blinked knowingly at the perception of a unique belief,
of a new idea
in a universe as ancient and young as time isn't either,

The trees breathed the air previously breathed by a thousand humans
the wind whistled the sound of a hundred orgasms
                                                 and babies crying
                                                 and men dying, and with their final breath -
laughing.
The seas churned with the rubbish of humanity,
with ship wrecks and shopping bags
with decomposing bodies and oil spills
and with a message in a bottle bobbing slowly across the world

A million stories were told that moment, into different ears
whispered, yelled, sung and danced
and yet the man perceived none of it
so none of it was important
he heard no tree falling against his will.

All importance revolved around him.
In his bedroom.
With his mouldable girl.

Brother

And I shouted out to you, running through the night
                 Chasing the sparks from the bonfire light
Chasing shooting stars, chasing hopes, chasing wishes,
                 chasing the ephemeral twilight of time

We didn't know it then, did we?
    That our childhood melted.
That these days of
       ~football, chassies, sandcastle battles, flags~
fun
       ~with no consequences or responsibilities~
of freedom,
                  that they could fade,
like the sparks, scattered to the wind

We were close - for a time - for a few spins of the sun dial
you taught me to face a tackle head on,
to never pick a fight with someone bigger than me
         That words, are just words.
          But promises are promises
and that I should never doubt family

You set the bar high, and I grew tall to fill your shoes
        to follow your footsteps
I envy your independence, your strength and your lack of caution.
I envy your conviction in everything you do .

I hope you discover your passion,
and that the long meandering path set for you by life,
    that all the twists and turns
                               and set backs
                               and red herring choices
have taught you something valuable.


Brother, you and I have seen it all
                        and now you're tall and cry silently at our father's funeral
and hug me in a way that tries to deny how much we need each other,
but also cries it out,
 as we did,
              crying out to each other,
chasing sparks through the twilight.

dream net

I picture a day,
where my daughter will be
6 years old,
walking home from school,
telling me
about the world
she has discovered,
she has begun to understand,
about the boy that's her buddy,
who's made to hold her hand
in line up
and how it's always sweaty when they make a circle
and that he won't stop pulling her pig tails.

And I'll smile and nod and think
how times will change
And how I'll see it all,
I'll tell her about the world,
And how big it is,
I'll tell her ' her life is a ship'
and she was made to alter its course,
not ride upon the waves provided.

I will say,
"Petal, it may seem like age is to do with years,
and life is too long,
but let me tell you,
age is to do with fears
                                  and joys
and life is too short to fit all the possible experiences
it offers us
into.

So don't waste time,
don't be someone else,
but don't be afraid to be the you you want to be tomorrow,
not the you you said you'd be yesterday. 

She will hunger for discovery
and tasting the saltiness of life, it's flavour, and its tears,
and feeling the smack of saying something you can't take back
and hunting the love of a boy who's bad with a heart of gold
and finally seeing that the nice guy, who pulled you're pig tails in primary school is actually...perfect
and having life.
Of demanding all that life can give you. 

She will face the world with an open heart,
and also open eyes,
she will jump into puddles with both feet,
dive off the highest diving board with no fear,
but if she doesn't want to,
she doesn't have to,
we can try again tomorrow.

"Oh trust me sweetheart, life will hurt." I'll say -
I will never try to convince it shouldn't
or that she's fine, when she's not
or that she needs to be strong for me,
because,
     well,
           that's my job.

I will be there for her first heart break,
         for the first loss,
             for every failure
                     and tragedy in between.
I will never ask her to be something she's not.

I want honesty from her, 

which means honesty from me. 

She will go through a period of time,
convinced that she's the only one who understands
racism
and refugee rights,
and environmental issues,
and how terrible war is
and how politicians are all liars mum,
and that in her lifetime
she will solve it all,
I will encourage her to chase her dreams with a butterfly net
and not a dream catcher.
You want to change something, I'll say
Go get it,

I will teach her to cook,
I will encourage her to teach me -
there will be no recipe books in our house,
(maybe just a few).
I will teach her, through food,
That amazing beautiful things can occur through planning,
but, it is only through gathering experience
and intuition
and throwing away the recipe of life
that unplanned miracles
and happy accidents
can occur. 

I don't want her to stand by things
she doesn't want to
doesn't believe anymore,
because as important as constancy is in love,
people change, and grow,
and I won't always know what the right decision is for her.

I will always be telling her, 

"Honey, your life is a maze of decision and choices,
only you can make and
only you can fully appreciate the consequences of a bad decision
and the greatness of a good decision
and as such,
I will help you in any way I can,
whether it's giving advice
or staying 'mum',
fixing something broken
or polishing your spirit
until you are ready to face the world again."

She will never have to hide
1. Being sick,
2. Being heart broken,
3. Getting a tatoo or
4. Changing her mind,
from me. 

And because of all these things,
when she falls down,
she will be willing to ask for help to stand up, 

because of all these things,
she will have high expectations for what she wants from life,
and her friends
and lovers
and the world around her
and she will demand greatness,
because no one has ever convinced her it doesn't exist.
And even when the world is confusing
and bad and inconsistent,
she will see that some people are permanent
and will always love her
and that everything will be all right. 

In the world of the straight speaker. The direct man can ask the difficult questions, clarify the ambiguous, justify the unjust and honestly get on with what will work, what is wanted and what will help. The world of the boring. Where the chase for the truth is stationary and unnecessary. And uninteresting. Does it actually matter? Is perception of truth enough. Of reality? Of objectivity? Wish we could negotiate our perceptions of reality. 

Control-Z

You can control-z your life.
as frustrating and inconsistant as edit--> undo is forgiveness. And correction.
And you can only go back so far. 

Permanent marker

Pain written on her face in permanent marker while she lay still.

That's what he did. Took a girl and changed her. Altered her course. Her story.

Probably doesn't even know her name. But he hurt her.

And now its written all over her face. 

Fickle fickle universe

Clarity. Knowledge. Power. Freedom.

Carry me home. Stare at me. Love me.

When I see these coffee club, no good, nice suits, flat shoes, loyalty card holding, small children ignored on the side, licking cappacino foam off their spoons and working, and living and loving and breathing in the nature of life. The juice of it. So simple. So annoyingly and frustratingly out of reach.

Happiness, so far out of personal control and so close to pretending to be.

Laugh.

At the fickle random uncontrollable. At the universe, really. At all of time and space. 

Election

The rub was its unsolvable nature. Unchangeable form. It exists as the sharp grip on the bladed handle of the proverbial double edged sword. The majority rules. The consensus reached- the truth defined by the clouded eyes, the fogged many or as the result does sho, the truth now defined, the knowledgable population, the right, the absurd.
I live here. I breathe. I read. I see. I show. I feel.                 I contain myself.

Democracy in action, they say.
They - the educated elite. The overthinking few, the current affairs drowned, newspaper reading, glasses wearing, nose turning, squinty number.
Right. Not good, not safe, not necessary, not better, not helpful, not beneficial, not unsure, and no indifferent. Those with right on their side and intelligent economic spending and strong education/healthcare platfroms running through their heads. Those that post memes of Tony Abbott next to golem and book flights to Canada. Bigger picture people. Australia has spoken. The truth is now loud and newspapers will line the streets with moustaches drawn on our country's leaders. We complain, we drink, we move, we run. Run from productive thinking and future planning. We grip the past and put our thumbs out using the phrase "Wasn't me".
Well Australia, it was you. Maybe not you, not me. but the collective us decisded. Now is the time to think antera, lasso the future we want. Enough of us do, we might be able to drag Australia in the right direction. 

Skin off my lips

I peel the skin off my lips
When I'm nervous
Or stressed, or upset,

my nails grab edges and pull off dry skin, bleeding and exposing freshness within
I'm not sure why it keeps me calm,

A certain kind of control, I make it, I break it, I own it, I dispose it. I use it and I abuse it.

I kissed a boy, and now I scrape my lips. Remove him, destroy him. I don't want to retain or maintain him. He means nothing to me.

Peel off the skin, layer by layer, making holes in my kisses.

I go and kiss more boys,

It's only skin off my lips

Funerals

“Coffins. Who’d of thought it? Catalogues for coffins. And the speed and efficient nature of funerals in general. I mean I know we’ve been doing them for years, but we’re very good at it aren’t we?”

Everyone laughed.

“No, but really the whole thing has just been one task after the other, call the funeral home, call the hospital, call the crematorium, call the family, call the papers, call the lawyers.” She paused, “I’d half-forgotten someone had died!”

Everyone laughed.

“And the things that always seemed like jokes – he always said he thought he should hedge his bets with the man upstairs just in case the religious folks got it right, but was that serious?”

Everyone laughed.

“And the funeral director, oh the funeral director trying to tactfully ask if he was a fat man, by asking if we needed one urn or two.”

Everyone laughed.

“I mean the whole thing is just too funny.”

At the funeral everyone cried.

The Dream

“I dreamt about you last night.

We were walking through a car park that didn’t end and you picked me up, pushed me against a wall and kissed me.”

She turned to face him.

“You kissed me like you haven’t kissed me in months.”

“Then you took me by the hand, looked at me with such love and stabbed me in the face.”

He looked up.

“Slashed me with a knife,” she gestured with her hand, “from here,” she pointed to her left eye, “To here,” her right cheek.

“I cried out in pain, but you drowned it with another kiss.”

He looked pained, went to speak and said nothing.

“You did this repeatedly for the entirety of the dream.”

“Kissed me, and then cut my face, there was a lot of blood.” She smiled, “Weird huh?”