Lovers

I
Lip, bitten and fat
love slides off in hot water, you left
an empty pack of cigarettes
thinking so little
of dreams, plans sketched
out in night ink, the engine
of carelessness idling on
the rain drenched street
there was no room for circled calendars
you left
and I held
the door open for you.

II
Night’s a suit vest
stained with stars
we eat Thai under the lighthouse
wind chilling the bones
of conversation, an amputation
of true meaning, you push for sex
and I relent – the city lights
eat my heart out as the waves
white-wash noise covers the tell-tale
signs, I’ve a mind to keep you
but I always try to keep your kind
like a stick insect – so magnificent
so still, imitating a leaf.

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Wild Saturday night, poetry, and mold.

Ahhh Sunday morning.

I have a new bookcase. It’s chocolate coloured, tall, and begging for books. The walls of my room are freckled with mold that looks to be making a home for itself (the joys of living in an old damp apartment), so I’m frantically moving all my prized books out of its reach. As it is with these things, I couldn’t help but read some of them.

Now it’s late (or early) and I’ve had my nose in some pages by the likes of John Tranter, John Forbes, and August Kleinzahler. So now I’m messing around with words. Here are some I prepared earlier.

Coral lipped, she had her tongue split
down the middle, now she talks strange
She likes to stick it out at small children
declaring that she never saw herself as a
mother

concentrating on the red man, he changes
green and we walk to the movies, she hates
romantic comedies and so do I, so we catch
some Nicolas Cage disaster. We’re not there
for the popcorn.

In the park in the early hours she hands me
a can of Coke, we do the whole look
at the stars and contemplate our lives shit. She feels
Athena is misunderstood – her manager – not the goddess
she tells me, though the goddess has a right to be mad
too, if you ask her, which I didn’t, but to watch her is heaven
and the night’s too cold for me to move.

I think the ending is a bit too weak. But I’m still mulling over what to replace it with. Maybe a detail about the other persona? I don’t know, it’s kind of her show, so… I’ll have to think on it some more.

Wild Saturday night/Sunday morning alone at the keys. I know what you’re thinking, “how does she maintain her extravagant lifestyle?”. Coffee and meds, my friends, coffee and meds.

Why, what are you doing with your Sunday morning?

Little Lazy Sunday Poem

Seaside Evening

 

Salt dusted coast,

peppered with apartments

soufflé clouds

wind bent palms

teal waves falling over themselves

for a slice of beach

for a lick of heaven

 

coffee-crescented cups

drying blotched crema fortunes

rings of Saturn, mineral stains

speckled with chocolate

 

surfers like buoys,

pin prick the sea

the soufflé falls in

rain sauces the high rises

as the lighthouse glow wades out

into a blue and burnt horizon’s ocean.

 

Valentine’s Day Scrapbook

What did you suckers do on Valentine’s day?

Did you make a valentine’s day scrapbook? Well you should have, and it should have gone something like this:

Read passionate love notes.
Read passionate love notes.
Be relentlessly pursued by your hot date.
Be relentlessly pursued by your hot date.
Chronicle said dates uncontrollable excitement at the chance to go out with you.
Chronicle said date’s uncontollable excitement at the chance to go out with you.
Go for long walks on the harbour with your long suffering roomate.
Long walks on the harbor with your similarly single long-suffering roommate hot person of interest (cameo by ghost knee).
Send a picture of flowers you found in the mall to your lover friend.
Buy, pick, borrow, or steal send a picture of flowers you found in the mall gardens to your friend workmate studybuddy lover.
Kiss hold hands stare awkwardly at the romantic harbour lights.
Yawn Kissing and stare awkwardly hold hands while you look at the romantic harbor lights.
Romantically watch rabbits stuff their tiny faces with lush grass metres away from the certain death of a busy road.
Romantically watch romantic rabbits stuff their tiny romantic-furred faces with lush grass metres away from the romantic certain death of a busy road.

There are rabbits there. If you squint. Look, I can’t do all the work. Use your imagination, romantic parasite-infested beasts of fluffy destruction – small enough and cute enough to make you regress to infantile exclamations of joy. Imagine it. Get involved.

Romantically
Romantically race a romantic leaf down a picturesque water feature in the mall in some fantastically classy place.
Romantic shit
Squat precariously in the dark to take hipster photos of a seed, some bird shit, a slug, or other romantic subjects while your long suffering roommate hot date laughs at your bizarre behavior marvels at your artistic genius.

That, dear friends, is how you have a glorious Valentine’s Day.