sharps (pot au feu)

by | August 24, 2023 | Per­sonal, Poetry | 0 Comments

i am sit­ting in a darkened cinema rolling a spiky metal ringup and down my fin­ger­s­press­ing in sharpto stop myself scratch­ing­sigils into skin again it’s his­tory          soup that has been sim­mer­ing­through generations…
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Drifting

by | May 9, 2020 | Poetry | 0 Comments

It’s the week­end again and the rain lashes the windows.I’d had some thought of weed­ing the garden, but the wind­Has other ideas. These arti­fi­cial dis­tinc­tions we make­B­etween work­day and rest — we’ve been home for 63 daysAnd one blends into another. I could have…
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The 6th Great Extinction

by | March 13, 2019 | Poetry | 0 Comments

There are no platy­pus under the bridge again today. It’s the fourth week in a row and we all ask each other Instead of hello, “Seen any platy­pus?” — hope­ful And each time, it’s “Not today… not for a while…” None of us know whether it’s sea­sonal, but we all fear It’s…
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POETRY

Mute

Dec 5, 2014

In the first heat of summer 2014 I lost all my words. They fell away from me like scales Or rather were trapped in my head Unable to emerge from closed lips. Touch and ges­ture were left to me And so, being inadept in their use, I learned to accept dis­com­fort Unable to…

It all adds up

Sep 26, 2014

A card­board mock-up of the grassy knoll And route mark­ers along a Dallas road Is an odd toy for a child, espe­cially in 1970s Aus­tralia. Little wonder I gradu­ated to 10 Days that Shook the World and Huis Clos at 14. Even less that Sey­mour Hirsh and Da Nang haunted my…

Righteous anger, right?

Sep 25, 2014

It’s past time, people. Rise up. How foetid does the stink of cor­rup­tion have to be? Rise up. How much ice has to melt? How many fires burn? How many forests? How many teen­agers must be shot? Rise up! How many journ­al­ists must be jailed for you? When will the…

Untitled

Sep 23, 2014

Blank pages have always intim­id­ated me And I hes­it­ate to describe minu­tiae again Lumps and aches, dull anchor points into limb And earth and stretched muscle when I crave flight Gift me air. Gift me uplift. Gift me weight­less­ness. Kiss me into feathers.

I pass.

Jul 7, 2014

It is a lynch­pin of my life Out­sider on the inside Yet I slide under radar Designed to trap my fellow Queers, gender­freaks, Col­on­ised souls. I infilt­rate priv­ileged spaces with my passing. I come out over and over Dis­com­fit the com­fort­able I may look white But my…

Stories

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Politics

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