I wrote this today, I think I’ll work on it – but here’s a draft.



Supernova (I have some concerns)

To M, everything I never said at the time.


namely gravity

black hole men skull-fucking the universe

I am careful not to talk too much of stars        (to you)

people always talk too much about stars                   (around you)

but when you talked of being ‘spit-roasted’ on your 25th birthday

I had some concerns


namely the gravity of the situation,

bringing two strangers

the kind who reach up for obligation

nestled between the Weetbix and pasta

on the top shelf of entitlement

not needing a leg up or chair


mainly bring them into the house we shared

at 2am I felt an octopus arm in my bed

“I’m just saying hello”

with slithering fingers

he pulls out         the drawers holding utensils

instruments of force    a ladle to scoop

the threat of violence

down my throat so that I am gagged from screaming

I stand in a galaxy of open kitchen drawers

he was looking for a bottle opener

I dream this

I have some concerns.


Agendas and coke mainly

star matter around your nose         the cheek biting

rapid fire speech about how the moon

controls the waves

which controls our menstrual cycles      controls the vibrations

that twist and turn        into wars    into pregnancies. Everything

could have been solved

by Neil Armstrong

had the space race actually been won.


I have some concerns            but

they turn to stardust in your hands

and the comet trail on the mirror goes on snorting you     bleeding

out your nose     white and red


I have some concerns


your supernova.


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

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?