this fierce uneasy day

viciously hot
best left to dogs
paddling frightened dreams in dust
flat beneath my trees

somewhere smoke clouds mound
bruised orange, black and filthy brown
battered giants' fists-
of destruction

as the bush burns

I hear sirens
wailing frantic paths through roads
and tracks
congealed by terror and black ash-

everyone is leaving

The monster speaks
my humour reeks
outward bile leaks
somewhere it peaks
downward it streaks
apologise, I'm meek

Oh; Beware!
The scandalousity of the acidicly,
addictively, seductiveness;

that surrounds the basic winter of your malcontent!

Cold
cannot be defined by words
from the skies of this dimension;

yet that same and exact dimension possesses the finesse
to coerce
your breathing inside the clouds to ease

and believe in a comfort, from a language of fools!

Pitiful,
the plight

of the sorrowfully motivated people.

There can never
be any gain from a pain that prefers to leave....

Point Omega
(to Don Delillo)

The mind sees through scaley eyes
gelatinous atoms inside are oozing
flinging electrons into others, lazily
rapid fireflies colliding.....sparks

consciousness is weary, grown sphinx-like, tired
The eternal experiment has failed again
it's designs fall to the will
of the pack
gold verticle eyes point the gene of destruction

Talking behind their back
bitterness their only track
of stories they have no lack
truth or fiction they don't care
challenge them if you dare
seeping poison from their pores
now they'll only hear my snores
as my silent derision roars
pity them their shallow lives
placing in backs their knives

hot wind
rattles branches

bone dry tree

the artery of fire
cracks and bleeds

it is so beautiful, it is so terrible

ash falls, wood snow,
bone dry tree

He takes out the trash, or makes dinner

thinks he's cleaned the whole house

he's not capable of being quiet as a mouse

full of self-praise

himself, he amaze

selective hearing and speech

sometimes hard to reach

never practices what he preach

loveable and incorrigible

he's not interchangable

Hubris…
how abhorred am I
that bulls
surround me
all my bones
lay scattered—
a chaotic abacus

What is it
I hold?
— hubris?
this stunted form
my crippled spirit

forest creatures
stray
far from me
wolves
bark
at my shadow

What is it I own?
—hubris ?
alone
By whose
name do I go?

Richard
Spindle-shanks
David
Hobble-foot?
Which of these am I
how are monsters named?

Someone turned the colour up

I now see
blood roses smiling
and kookaburra laughs
colouring my day

babies breath wrap
the columns of the night
black pearls glimmer
its crystal Windows

Jasmine wafts
flowering the breeze
a touch so soft
its velvet hand does tease

Senseless
in this bliss
this wonderment
I am thankful

someone came back from the dead

My mother,

seeded by mischance,
a nuggety woman,
cross grained
impatient, full of gall,
slaps my heart with nettles

hits with sticks

so that I will know
just
who
she
is.

My mother

never much cared for children,
charcoal, turpentine and paint
invade the kitchen table and the floor,
thin blades for carving wood
ambush fingers, toes, feet -

stab my hands.