Welcome to Phoenix’s world-changing Salon

for Emilie Zoey Baker (EZB), after hear­ing her per­form Sweet Cowboy with Sean M Whelan she’s honey warm, liquid, mel­li­flu­ous i want to drown in her golden intens­ity if i could get my tongue unstuck i’d tell her she’s poured into that denim her cow­girl smile undoes me…

do i know you from some­where? your hand in mine sudden like a memory your bright eyes, clear as crisp days I am caught in a loop of three moments in your office on my couch and long ago in a forest “it still feels odd to shake your hand,” you say, echoes of it,…

For Tim and Jonathan it’s these cobble­stones I’ve fallen in love with you’re just a bonus it’s the sun­shine and the moments when the wind kisses me softly it’s the gaslamps in the cafes lit late in septem­ber when it should be warm but instead we’re huddled into each…

when i miss you, it’s like i’m trying to remem­ber a for­got­ten appoint­ment. you’ve become com­fort­able to me, a favour­ite jacket, that fits me just right, or a neck­lace that I always wear and when you’re not there I rub at the place you should be. at your house, with…

this enorm­ous lan­guage fills my mouth i stumble frantic over sim­pli­cit­ies this world has been worn blind sacred smooth and in its empti­ness, her thou­sand elab­or­ate machines tick intric­ate in gor­geous sym­phony. my tongue is pon­der­ous huge i want to speak to you but…

For Thorfy self other other self and where am I in this equa­tion? i. i. we. you. other. self. we are talk­ing of colour and sweat skin and liquids touch taste vision none of them make their way to the page I filter you into a thou­sand sen­tences but you over­flow and I…

For David This is my gift to you, this map to find your way back to me should you need it. First of all, find the river. It will smell of patchouli and cin­na­mon, with the faintest touch of hope. Follow it until you see the boat, and climb in. Sail south­ward, watching…

The smell of bush fire is unmis­take­able. It per­vades streets, offices, trams, The calm hint of destruc­tion Stark against our coddled days. Heat is a harpie, luring us Dumbly into som­no­lent sub­mis­sion, Stretch­ing up to her, arch­ing Into her limb­less liquid­ity. But…

14/8/00 — Monday: Ache strange that it is, lit­er­ally, felt in the heart, this chill that is the absence of you slightly off-centre. And that’s how I feel, Off-kilter, unbal­anced The tears frozen in this Cold shot lodged in my chest 25/8/00 — Tues­day: Locked out The…

I never was a beach walker Days warm down Tamar­ama But there’s some­thing about the edges of cliffs And the walk between Bronte and Bondi Exer­cise spaces and wooden beams Winds call­ing me to jump and me Barely res­ist­ing. I climb over the wall Right near the sign which…

you call your shape from thin air change in an eye-blink dream-haunter, it’s you I’ve seen nights, pad­ding down forest cor­ridors. My soul calls to you, my kindred My pack. My body shud­ders As you pass and our eyes lock, Your yellow animal eyes, My hazel ones. I will…

These desic­cated moments flake off my skin like so much over­time. My hands are dry and crack­ing, peeled raw and papery My neck my back my eyes I walk slowly down long tram­lines in dark­ness with lights behind catch­ing up and winds blow­ing Down too straight alleys…

Up at Wood­ford Fest­ival, Queens­land, Aus­tralia, in the last days of the mil­len­nium, the energy rose as people breathed deeply, pre­par­ing to hold our col­lect­ive breaths as the pen­du­lum swung to the summit, to hang there motion­less moment­ar­ily before grav­ity over­took it…

He died as he must have lived Curled up on the foot­path quietly While cars and people passed by Spar­ing only vague pity­ing glances But def­in­itely no small change. He’s peace­ful — you’d think him Asleep if it wer­en’t for the blood On his temples and the two uniforms…

Mer­cury is lighter than each breath I’m banded by metal pin­cers Yet strangely I crave pain. I want to crawl into a small Space and be hurt Badly By someone mer­ci­less So that I’d feel jus­ti­fied in crying. I’d feel safer Some­how Wait­ing for the next blow Know­ing it…

watch me walk­ing down your streets i’m in your veins down there’s the duplex I lived in 9 years ago, deep in your belly, under your skin, damp and cold but care­free. up there’s the ter­race where I came back to you and you pun­ished me for leav­ing squeez­ing me…