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Spring Cleaning
its a week out until spring and you can tell by the smell in the air, in the linens
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Confessions in Morning Light
i was on fire, set ablaze. i am fireball and fog,
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The Laundry Basket
i wring out my heart and peg it to dry on a wiry old clothesline that creaks in my childhood garden, among the bindis,
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Glasshouses and Mudholes
i make wishes on blinking stars when i fear we’ll never meet, and place bets on racing cars
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Sticky Tape Images
i am trapped in the symbol of waiting for a train that never comes, swept away from the gloom of lighthouses and the shallows of the sea, dragged along the white, endless median strip that travels to grey boxes,
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Strings
strings are birthed from my fingertips and hands, and i am a body made of knots that span to all the places i have ever been.
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Fall Back
home now again, i fall back into bed,
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Linger For Me
as i wander upon the cracked footpath, the greys and violets of the city twist me like a shriveled leaf on grainy cobbles,
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Salt
emotional turmoil strikes like waves, coiling, spiralling. crisp salt air tastes of freedom or pleasure,
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The Memory Letter
i am watching flutters of greying birds perch above in heaven-like streaks of soaring sun. they nestle in the weeping tree that holds and hangs
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