heard early

a butcher birds praise
of unfledged flesh
slits open the day

in the place where i am

horizons coil into my blood

creek beds hide water

black stones hold

memories of fire
dust records

out here

in the place where i am

bones fray

bronze wing

She is finished she said

her luck over and out

wrap me up in my blanket

bury me deep down
where the dingoes and crows wont
where the dingoes and crows wont
where the dingoes and crows wont

if only I was

if only I could

if only
I had the flight of a bronze wing

I put down the phone

find the instruction book
blank

travelling east

before us
the stars climb
behind
the moon falls

untitled

in my socks
i clicked the sunrise
and
squeezed it in a box

Letter to Di

Birds sing.

Dog barks.

Flies

arrive

depart.

Bottle brush red

splashes

in the pool.

Sun love bites

my neck -

tea bags sink

wrecked

in a milky sea.

I lie

naked

sun soaked.

Dog sings the blues.

Invisible neighbour

whistles

creaks his shed

rust roof

green door.

Plays Triple J.

cabbage moths cross flight paths

an ant spell checks my page

the washing machine insists

no time to play

Sky colour -

Uplift Me Blue.

Outside.

Today.

untitled

first light
honey eaters chorale
nectar sweet

untitled

babblers in lower branches
silence of the cat

grin and bear it?

Is 3.30pm a time to give your self a treat?

Make peace not war?

Check the water level in the bird bath?

Begin to anticipate the clock strike four?

Crack a nut?

Eat a kernel?

Try not to cry?

Remember to be grateful, mindful, full, full, full?

Put the hammer away and fill the kettle?

Watch shadows slip?

Be the stillness of the watering can

plastic green bin

discarded shoes

and a sock?

Is it time to put your head in your hand,

four fingers curved

into your bottom lip?

Let extremities fold inwards?

Origami?

To concentrate on the hand that writes not types?

Link with ink?

Not pick at scabs or lick the wound?

Is 3.55

the time to listen to roof heat tick,

watch the frangipanni fall -

grin and bear it?

Here Again

I am here again

at the back table

the back table

I built and oiled

on early mornings

to avoid

the eye sizzling heat of noon.

Here again.

Bemoaning.

Being and moaning -

to myself

to the page

to the world

that my handwriting

like me

deteriorates

before my eyes,

my eyes

deteriorate

before my brain

my brain

deteriorates

within my body

which deteriorates

and on

and on

and on

when a mudlark/ piping shrike/peewee

unaware of deterioration /decay/time

oblivious of my thoughts/ feelings/self pity

careless of the cold east wind setting the scene for autumn

took a bird bath

spun globes of water like planets and suns into the air

made rainbows with the morning

and ruffled feathers blurred the black and white.

disqualified!

Vermin