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…