I think you’d been drifting away from us, even before you ended up in this sterile hospital bed. But you seem to have caught
Our first real transgression was in the park in the dark, on th… Then later, on the floor while my commitment slept in the next room, snoring quietly
rancid rantings/burning anger/stin… fear/hope—strobe—love/abhorrence—t… nihilism coffee/whiskey/cigarettes—no comfo… plans with no point/guns with no c…
The struggle seems as blind as our dark evolutionary past, as hypocritical as a politician on… as tiring as a hundred mile sprint… I no longer have any energy.
My son’s cleaning up his room and I’m not really glad. He’s cleaning up his room and it’s raining clothes and crock… The washer’s running amok, the dis…
I have grieved the growing power, the vanishing grace, the stateless state, of the victims of bombs. I have mourned at the empty hole,
He walks in anger he walks with fear and in his hands he walks with death. They walk in innocence
Would I be handsome in baggy red… and red and blue makeup? Would I be more, if I were to be… except for the blowing of a horn? Would I be understood better usin…
There is solace in the bush, among… there is redemption laying on the… by the river as the troubles flow… There is peace to be found in the… of the mountains to the West.
There is space around the moon tonight, white, bright, lighting t… like cardboard cut-outs on a half-… "You are very beautiful, tonight", he says, and the breeze…
The air around him was welcoming, his words like quiet music pulled me in, relaxed me, hugged m… He claimed my eyes with his own, wouldn’t let them go, I’m sure he…
Australian summers are hot, even into the night sometimes, and this night at the Family Inn was one of them, soaking shirts t… Some barely remembered Aussie ba…
The Valley of the Shadow of Deat… travels through the streets of my… bringing in with it the refugees, the sinners and saints of flotsam. It’s filled with meth heads and ju…
I’d like to write a poem that’s a swimming pool, or even a wading pool would do. I’d have the sun shine on the firs… and Spring overwhelm the stanza.
Manufactured from a million ill-fitting participles blinking the [abort] light of syntax error overload, I am that demon
