Invisible Journey



The truth, my one
you've had two loves,
one, a banker,
and two, a poet,
one cynical,

the blink of a snake,
a nod of its head.
and the other
joyful as a child,
the price of life
(for all the beautiful)
is gold or steel,
the gold is cheap,
steel suffers,
all money or all truth,
the truth lies quietly
in all the smallest things
we do in our days,
a look, a gesture,
a tender smile,
not a bank, diamond,
a cheque, to find
all my fortune
I simply place
my large hand
in the small
of your back
and displace all
the air between us,
because nothing
worth-while is easy,
but all the beautiful
things are true.
I am happy to be yours,
all yours, your smiling,
whistling, careless idiot.

I was born into money
I was born of no money
some people are so poor
all they have is money
my reservoir of reserve,
is a dark glass of silence

As my being
shrinks and shivers
for my unseen
yet all present lover.

Touch money then
touch your lips—

imperial measures

not the safest way
to measure a world
but Olympia cannot
be too far away

There and untouchable
as the painted ceiling
tents the earth, unmoors
its tentative fastenings
I pray unto infinity.

I’ve left the door ajar,
enough for night to push
its tongue into the room
And I dream you were
robbing a museum.

Then you held your face
on my palms and touched
your lips to mine
you tasted like mint and clouds
thats how you kiss
you whispered in my ear
nothing now was lost in translation
wide, shut, hangover,

No more dancing
after the ball
five things at once
like thirsty adolescent animals
around a watering hole
ball games wet faces
leaving the courts
rivers light under shade


a mouth can be a pillow
like cities wrapped in our desires
blankets rustle like wood
around a nail, me in your hands,
plundered, light flames
licking at shadows
your body over my body
your hair entwined in mine
blue eyes mirroring
a sundering harvesting sky
where is my bright day
you will never let me sleep
and I will never surrender.

Who burnt-out the boat house?
it was those boys! The boys
who kiss the flowers, why?
Because they never want to leave…


The heart of earth impaled, upon a ray of sun
alone a candle nests the folding ruins of the light
tongues of orchis flame are wicker bound
each perpetuation blossoms that hopeless place
you found love blossomings outside a room
outside and falling perpetual and perpetual
sudden coral blossomings as big as loneliness
ose shadows fold within rose shadows
agents of desire expand breathe and retract
their unfolding petals, darlke-ing scent the stars
narcotic between embraces that folding repose
spending blossoms folding to beautiful decay
grafted to trees and waters and fires, this,
for what heaven should bend above, the birds sing
to the shape of the window, the sky is taken
with the drop of a curtain, suddenly its evening
it's bread and roses and we are still alive.


This is love (between the flags)
a marriage for the unresting eye
of love and the horizon of the mind
of new horizons, new horizons,
of love and the deep blue sea
And i’m lost, devoured, beneath
warm cimmerian waves, the sea
and sky meeting - like lips
be my drum, beat for me.

(to find you) I’ve come
where all that happens
to this end, to this edge of time
is swallowed by star breath
disappeared into morning light.

Here, let me put my tired heart
beside yours, underneath your flags.

It's wonderful to jump out of bed,
my lips your kisses prize
drink too many cups of tea,
you're a temple to my eyes
and spend time on the internet,
turn my face to the skies
and love you so much.
I know I know I know
I love your hands
I know I know I know
I plant my hands in the garden
I grow I grow I grow.

Sometimes, checking-into my hotel
sometimes, reaching, I look back to you
I reach around, I reach, and reaching pull
your small protecting body close to mine.
In two square acres of bed, we completed
a set, a double exposure, double or nothing,
doubly purposeful and purposeless,
sometimes masked by dark
we are sometimes ourselves.

The squeeze of time and space reduces,
life in an instant, awe makes glory of my pain,
finally star-on-star fades, the awful night is over
oh, how long have I been seeking? and how far?
You're the love I want, I took you
and I took our love, I turned it to the sky

Advice that's honest: Never trust
a tame wolf, a horse's health,
a whores oath, or a boy's love.

All wolves are hungry,
all youth is inconstant,
all love unsafe, and foolish,
like eating song birds.
And, there are no sweeter words

that this: Nothing lasts forever.

You here,
coming, I love to see,
but I hate to see you go.
Those nights I can't remember
with the friends I can't forget

how it does my heart good
limber liquid youth
(a softer world)
yielding like a pushed peach
of milky tears and sobbing tongue
it explores the dark,
the purple carnation
of your selfish sleep until turd time
and place and a jewel rose of agreement,
eyes like sad love stars
- but the sun is truth,
and you smell like the ocean
and below of the great, grave city
on it's slave harbour,
a lonely city that eats it's young
a city that has the sweet sticky smell
of youth on it's fingers, that smell,
mingling with the sour smell of old age.

Maybe this dream
should have been fresh, innocent
should have been a tale of a boy
a boy with his dog,
a boy in his room building a fort
his brown eyes reading,
or squinting at the sky parade,
or boy meets girl (boy catches germs)
or a boy and his unicorn
or a boy - far from this electric world
or searching for his sister
a boy afraid of the dark, or bears,
a boy with a future so bright
he had to wear sunglasses,
over his tentacle lashes,
so heroic, even the boys love him
and then hate him, hate him with
rings and roses, concrete kisses,

you are capricious untamable,
you are the the inexorable
your burning innermost core is malicious,
you're primitive, numbing, rumbling
a lumbering giant rock and iron
vomiting destruction
clawing up your monstrous huge shaking body
up to you volcanic mouth,
plume reddens, blocks, soars
I find your hot spitting lava tongue, gurgling
vomiting roar that flushes
the marrow out of your bones
and topples your soul
you fill me with revulsion and terror
with a shuddering sucking pop
your terrible red and white ooze
trickles down your heaving front,
river of fire, nudging walls
unfastening atoms one by one
this hour is fatal, it's inhaling all, devouring all
consuming all in its path
all scorched, all barren
down to the procellous stormy sea
settling ashes still warm and unique
what happens once can happen again
you'll see, just wait, wait a long time
but don't count on you for a single day
we come back, we come back.


Walking careless, picking at rosebuds,
but then, out out of the wine darkness
and into the flesh-light
a wonder-monster, a harvester of hearts,
a lonely angel, his mind
older than these hills
speaking to the moon,
and those naked old gods,
are pictures on his walls
you're another object of his collection
it's shadows gathering loneliness
a kingdom of desire,
a scream light made heard,
fallen, bent over, crying-out in the park,
brittle, gone, pants torn down,
dropped, broken like china,
thrown in a corner bush with last year's kite,
still, rank among the lonely gravel spoil,
lolled by tide, rolled by worms
this - the ebb and flow of beauty, of enmity,
I thought they said you won't go to hell for love
now you're popular - in police slideshows,
I know now I disappointed you.

Hopping gulls, are white - like skulls,
and the flying distance between us,
is in-exactly an ocean (measured in tears)
When we make love, I think of the sea
at night, i'm clutching the sail of your back.
What convoluted currents - of chance,
what chain reaction of history - led me to you
compelling from my boyhood on the coast
here into this bed, this creaking ancient vessel
on a black dark and undulating ocean.

Morning grits my eyes, and our shadows emerge,
Daylight forces itself inside us, a prophecy of light
forcing old wounds, breaking the ice of history,
bend down spin the bottle, truth or dare,
dip one's finger findingly into cerulean blue
we dismember the past, we forget the future,
the cupboard doors are swinging ajar,

Remember the instructions:
No more shuffling mediocrity, when you love,
do so directly, approach life with an open heart
before age's cruel knife impoverishes memory.

The lip of his curve, is wine red and kisses,
the curve of his lips bow his hips flowers
stuttering light the sound of tea being poured
I wait, I fasticate, I eat a lot of toast,
messages are words as hopes,
become a trail of crumbs
I ask them to close their eyes, and listen,
down the bay window,
the incoming tide will have the last word
the incoming tide always does.

We take to sex
with all the Venusian heat of sodomy
like Apes and monsters, like fathers,
with the crooked desire and ludus games
of priests and perverts; but,
Sex was a monetary itch,
Love never lets us go.


This grey room, this blackened
heart-of-oak floor, this lapping silver pot,
these shivering pearls,
the mirror tarnished
between silver and black where the image turns,
re-turns, reflect-out these peasant shadows
gathering shadows, along this very blue of sky
and outside, the stillness, the truth of green,
between the stars, a bath of galaxies
and as above so below,
where the street meets sunrise - steam
the lace curtain behind a broken window
is sucked in and out with stale steady breaths
and the rain, exhaling the smell of lost time
to hollow windows filled with tears.

Avoid the rough, guiltily-expectant meat of alleys
meat thats hanging around, preserved in underwear,
demanding meat, loitering with mugging intent,
American meat, soldier meat, meat that forces it's way
into heaven - before bombing the hell out of everything.


Music room, mysterium in awesome,
doors are opening, measuring doors
doors pencilled with notches to the heights
doors that lead to halls of doors,
that lead to halls of doors, and door by door,
word by word history is discovered,
a draft creeps under, creeps between portals,
a breeze will whistle fluently and some day
a door will open down, back to the sea.

Speed Six -
waiting for the sheep to pass,
a skylark's song.

The heir inspects
the work of his tenants, so near
that I tremble.
And once more, so human, so loving,
the prince
again loves the shepherd lad.




The sheep, like my thoughts
are scattered, like my senses,
eyes and ears, hands and feet,
nose and mouth, my body
reminded, that to remember
is to savour, that is why,
on a warm day, I rest,
close my eyes to the sun
and wish for a shepherd
to herd my senses,
happiness flock unto me.

Veronese thunder.
tending the cosmos
the price of valor

we needn't talk --

the night whispers
the loneliness of beds.

rainy afternoon

I feel an engine idling
...wonder if its you

“We follow heroes, gods, and monsters’,
and choose to live outside the walls.”

moving through

the summer moon

slow swell

across his face

the light that slowly moves

across his field
sunrise from village to village

a rooster’s crow
the gentle swell of his belly

His hips circled forward,
a crowded grazed horizon
of the hills

Hollywood ending

Why fret, beautiful?
The world doesn’t have to be
bigger than our bed.



are like sea monsters here;
skimming below the surface,
leading an un-existence
of that time prison of the sea
here alcohol ruins the best of moments,
HMAS, life-buoyed, truly royal
sea-cocks, nothing doing but feast -
on shit and cum, sweat and blood,
arse and thighs – your time served bones
acheing with the fatigue of loneliness,
what could you do? butterflies
you're nude when you sleep, but
only when you scream you're naked
and what reaches around - comes around.

I spend myself
in your torn calloused body,
all over your cheating heart,
splattered, sprayed with come
and salt water and love
those tears from the ship's glands
fall onto your ravished, happy form
you trembling voice creaks,
and your tumbling tears
join the ocean,
and on the patch of light
between the bars you drew
and you draw
with your cabin fingers
a heart of oak.

Square mile mornings.
after the rain,
as the sun goes down my page,
sometimes you pose,
(sometimes you pose as posing)
Come-on Train -
I am not in the mood for your delays!
or somebody new, for now
those uncertainties of day
or night, are gone.
I love you so long – all evening,
you're branded with hot stars
bridge, tunnel, sodomy or the lash
your brown eyes dilate, remember
they flower, this too iris is brazil.


Sighs, horses, wishes, lies - dreams,
you, me, and us, three boys
beyond mothers' call,
the dreams of two back-off to the sea,
how, how did you arrive?
From what lost and broken ship
did you find the final courage
to release your grip?
In peace sons bury fathers,
but war violates nature
but, we are lucky and neither so
instead, winds roll a heart-of-grass
across the courtyard,
listen, I swear, heaven
is driven by wires, not magic,
no bells can ring for us here.
We can drowse, fizzing warmly
like the circuits in the walls
wheels of the electric meter
turn quicker than the earth,
and now with my hand I cover Africa
and all it's sulphur skies,

here the sun outstares the mind,
and adventure is just one mistake away,
go, get away, ditch school,
on your bike, ride - all the way
out of town - until your legs give-way,
then, fall asleep
to the music of a strange field,
and life is beautiful.


You are now fallen from grace
fallen from the favour of the sea
stay with me, please.
i'll kick-over that milkman's can
and strangle all those roosters
school is a tasteless place for dying
our masters squash all the caterpillars
and complain there are no butterflies.
So,  to ensure a good education
truancy tactics are essential,
the night-end is bare, and leaving home
sneakers crunching frost-footed
on those early lawns - where dark expires,
your face I let it descend into my hand,
French and stern as an Arcadian Shepherd's
my Sphinx, you're ineffable, f-able,
you come to me through morning meadows
to my door, force your way into any opening,
then, your eyelids burst like shutters,
you're the Rubicon of a glass of sparking wine,
this summer is cooking my heart
I'll enclose you, we can dream together,
beating,  it tacks your white harbour,
our port of storm -call me Iason,
to seek and steal your golden fleece.

In this tender time of year
(rope-swinging cabin boy)
you were that love-hope
that flies out of sight
shot from the bow of longing
like a pitcher into my beyond.
Dressed in the white and blue
your mother laid-out for you
you're my most secret shanty,
my worst fear or my best hope,
peg-prince of my page
girls in the night moan your name
and watching high from the aerie
of your pocket eagles nest
and the shadowy folds of its flag
undulate over your body and the
has all its furious rhythms of the
upper extra-human architecture,

vessels have their own geometry
of death and anguish,
and this good ship,
it has a bare naked lady, the Venus
as figurehead, for all the bored sailors
get hard about
she's caressed over and over again
by hungry rhythmic shadows
as they imagining screwing you
under the trembling masts you're
kneeling down and holding at bay
a broadside of their pricks
waves of dicks roll over you
flecking you with salt wetness
they are not saints nor virgins
they are lavatory lunatics and jokers
the most of all the dirty peoples
they can work and count and fight
and boast and argue
(but also secretly love Shirley Temple)
and they don't know anything at all
(and don't give a damn that they don't)
but they know you, my smooth punk
(they know) you sneak into my morning bed
and bending, beat at my rising tide,
forced to bloom for your gilded cheek,
my love thug, that good ship lollipop,
you're so greedy, don't suck too hard,
or love's gonna get you down, down
rolling-over with the ship, moving in,
from your teeth to your tonsils
kissing the forehead and fumbling
there you post to your sweetheart,
you choke on love, and return to sender,
salt-spit and pout you're a strange flower
to come at rose sky to open, and opening
shatter the shafts of the morning stars.

Again, I lift the shirt bell for the clapper,
with more heaving breast
I squeeze your haunches to ring it
my bed is a fine belfry to ring-out bells
come my saucy easter hat of silence
then after hammocked we're asleep
creaking to the song of evenings to
that rhythmic ode of pine beating oak
this is a small satin escape to our
other bursting sheets of canvas
the delicate whirl of your whipping
cannon-tip always is tracing my destruction
and in battering, you destroying me
climb to the nest and hang some sighs
on to my doomed exploding frigate
spilling liquid dreams on spider riggings
of dreams topping those canvas trees
your high noon and navy blue is all of
the rum and the sodomy and the lash
is it the forge of fuckery, so more wine
more love, more is better, more me trapped
between two rocks and a hard place.

In a prison of sickness and want
one truly discovers the heart of a friend
and that heart beats for them
and when you speak you sing or don't,
you sleep and when your voice
is gone we doze then I hear you
in your native tongue, and in your seaward
breeze of words beneath your ocean dreams
I keep you close, so close that if you wake
i'll feel your heart to turn and hold you dear
and when I can't I walk the decks
(that wood and water holding my weight)
and I try to cross the ocean on feet
afloat without letting the skies know.

This month the weather
has been so bright and clear,
and I could have crossed
the mountains instead
but I was reluctant to trouble you,
knowing you were deep in water
you tell me you have
sea-foam in your legs,
that you understand
the language of the waves,
that it whispers that low
and delicious word, death.
The fine and final fog
from legs to mouth
the spawn of the seas wets us
with it's spit, it is a shroud
of foam sighing like waves,
cast adrift
in the comfort weight of airs
I roll beneath your sea
and the waves above
but what land is this?
what skin gardens can flower
or wild palms bloom
through our night,
and what gooseular games
can happen here,
and what other slow and heavy
tango can be danced in reverse
what kiss of smoke and dreams
hardens as it reaches,
reaching for those unreachable places,
we are nothing,
and all our branches burn for love.

Like a phoenix, the more I burn,
the more I grow into me and out of you.

And as we wander
all the other windy skies
met from blue animal air
and the undulating swell fills me,
it's me-to-you, you to me,
ploughing lightly wooded vales
our fingers full
of bandaged moon and sands
where the heavy fruits wash
and this wilderness
is all alive with bees
so suck and so sucked smoking
up into my ceiling of skies
a salty torsoed' snake charmer,
lying on straw
stretching your leafy ankles,
sleeping like a thief,
in a hollow of language
lost in words, lost for words
answer and enter, enter and answer,
unbreakable box of a cabin boy
laughingly trying your ravishing
couchant poses with pretended lady-parts
I do right by you, and in doing virtue
not one's vice that precipitate into disaster.
the secret violence of a ladybirds urges
the breakers of tombs to draw straws
and dicking-around mixes our names
and bursts too many skins and ages
to a grand fatigue with a passage to India
ancient evenings in this imperial bedroom
of the Empire of OH and AH,
it's downfall is wrapped and mummified
in your cheeks and sheets,
and I don't know if we're voyaging
for another face, or to the moon
or the sea, or what shadows,
the desert sun greets me with,
the fire and the music the warm skin
melting into melody
what Africas envelop us with serpents
what total eclipses bend behind the horizon
that sleeps in the hollow of your spine
what compass is encompassing that folded leaf,
thats quartering my night,
the restless muffled sound
of native drums an internal caress
and ivy chokes me to a parting glass
what serpent awakes to your voice
what shadow at your feet
of all the things you said,
that to love the dead is easy.

I don't believe in heaven
or hell,
go, I cannot leave you behind
on ancient shores says the dusk
- that devouress, she bends
and opens her ass
to where the dwelling day
will bury his face
and farewell
to that great garden
all my goodbyes are gone.
Et in Suburbia Ego

And then - voyagers,
rowing home overwater
to the antipodean sun all
melting light and backs to the sea
the sky is a disappointment
we pulled each oar closer
dipping under rainfolds for the storm
and crossing slabs of cloudedge
burrowed against each other
wet-on-wet skims in-and-out
around an unseen arrow centred
this holding-on was what you learnt
to the salt-embracing piers.


Here we are on Terra-Firma,
spilling red wine into the earth
to make the trees sway,
trees tell you everything in the evening
when their branches wave and nod
and you, (always showing-off)
in the marvellous summer light believe
that chasing fireflies saves everything.
You only have to let the soft animal
of your body love what it loves
a little gay fun never hurt anyone
you-on-me, after lights out, making-a-mess
hopes can be mended by sharing germs.

Getting-up and going home,
nobody waved goodbye, no bells ring,
skeletons grin to us to join in their dance,
disinterest is more dangerous than war
and days are like years as I imagine you
touring the endless wooded rooms
all at home with the beauty and ugliness
I grew into, look how it stands still.
Look how it stands! after all our
journey and how the treads still creak.
The blind square worms of rooms
turn, stateless, here life and thought
have left the meadowlark gravelled drive.


Sweet lad, tender lad,
Have no shame, you’re mine for good;
We share a sole insurgent fire,
We live in boundless brotherhood.
I do not fear the gibes of men;
One being split in two we dwell,
The kernel of a double nut
Embedded in a single shell.

Imitation of the Arabic,
by Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin


in the churchyard the silence
of the dead is deafening
the dead sing like trees without birds

winter tress cough like old men
the rain complains in sighs and mumbles
late afternoon marmoreal stillness
each tombstone in its neighbour's shadow

like judgement day,
lizards scatter with terror
like we all, we all woke-up
in the garden wearing dirt

Standing on a wall,
I address an empty crowd:
I would like to thank
the house I grew-into
no-one is without
a childhood or dreams,
the world is a big place
when you are young
with parents the size
of Egyptian statues back then,
when we all started fighting
like Greeks and Trojans
with the same wooden swords,
all heroes – well, heroes in comics
never fall in love with their friends,
but they do in Homer, but this truth
is later made inedible by time and fate
gentle Sphinx's without bowls of milk.

Here pausing
to touch a crumbling brick
or moss-haired statues
of some grace or virtue
made as gritty and as
uncompromising as the earth,
lean in and out to umpire
the rain battered tennis courts
now bouncing with wildflowers
pursed mouths darken in the night
Clio, her upper hand lies forgotten
in some bottom drawer, her nose
at rest amongst the leaves
of some sunny foreign field,
all light in ashes, and distantly
a dark man quietly unleashes
the shadow of a dog.


The avenue's tree-dappled-dust
is mirrored in the sea of weeds,
walls here are shored against ruin,
the door complains with rust
and in the cold comfort in the hall
patriotic flags welcome the moss
sighing chimney lips cough darkly,
to the tarnished gilt of bronze.
The dampfogged watery glass
of blind windows bangs like erasers
as another layer of paint flakes above
blue hydrangeas, I swear were pink.


I can still remember smell but not sense
the nighthorrors of the stable blaze,
a spade beneath dead trees rings bones
(I don't know what this room is called)
smelling something like coffee at the zoo
it has a deep and rusting bed of mushrooms
sprung of the caretakers damp magazines
a senile valve radio only crackles the sky
and down in views framed by twisting wood,
a wistful eden, with smalls of dry grass,
grapes, wheat, mountains and a flooding ocean
completing that grand tour of the seasons.

lWhat passion is beyond my night’s frame?
what portraits will I find myself hidden in?


The air tastes differently at nightfall.
With c
old windows cracked open
and snows,
swept-aside from the streets
we drink our sleep,
amber lights blink politely,
soft blankets tent dreamingly,
old films aligned out of breathing
the house creaks,
and settles again on it's feet
you find that box of photographs,
and I explain-away
all the dead in black and white.
I ponder the ancient prophylactic
found in my fucker-father's chest;
an ending at a beginning,
but the child in me still believes
that balloons
are the secret to world peace.

I wake up,
hearing somebody outside,
murmur the sound of your name
its not...
I wish they had called it
candles on the take,
run fingers of light over empty trunks,
locked in the past,
the wine cellar,
dry with old blood,
the kitchen
where theres tea and hope,
the library
where shhh happened,
the bookshelves and bookshelves,
where it is easier
to love a storm that isn't yours,
songs taking wing off the page
long after a war.


All these heavy tomes penned by bores,
assembled, sweated, clawed, dedicated
from all those small scraps and traces
surrounding the lucky accidents around
the history of my own birth, time, place
class and education, backgrounds that
shaped every assumption, formed tastes:
So, every Asian was excitable, African lazy
and a waste of empire, a white burden
also Women, unreliable in the background,
Continentals shifty and last of all the Gays:
all traitors to their sex, class and nation.

Those leather books (walls inside walls)
all knotted with love,  sewn hard and taut
and exoskeletaly straight spined
to withstand the run and tumble of years,
thy might as well be in blood,
here, I would dose in the afternoon men,
and allow the carpets to carry me away.
you light-up a copy of Eminent Victorians,
it's burning blue, the colours of the sea,
everything you do I warm my hands by,
all my pages burn for you, but the more
we try to rub-out the history,
the more we smudge everything

But history, we speak only of the dead.
And of the dead what history there is.


Something about a library
full of damp books
smouldering boys in history

So the maps all burn

I enter you and discover the world
find the source of the numbers
know the paths of the stars
celestial music pouring over us
with static from the radio
so dirty and bloody and human
I keep it when I leave.

my lamp is feathered by the dying air
no midnight is as private as a library
where all the books steal the light


Some pompous-ass historian
wrote us up, as Knight Protectors
of the Golden Fleece
the Household Cavalry at Waterloo
Rusting standards sag a white crossed
a blue-blur (don't you agree) Cheri
that life is three quarters love,
one tenth luck and 90% action.


Theres that sagging tapestry,
with lots of little people with staves,
and dogs surrounding a fat man on a horse,
It looks like some Churchill
smoking Cuban cigars in regress.
That resting lean of empty frames,
kindling devoid of old murderers,
yes, my face is also familiar
to coloured plates conquered places,
revisionary silverfish graze
beyond busted gates,
and the words take wind - like leaves.
Stretched out, our pages ruffled as they fell
darling, you're an arsonist, you should
rake-up all these vanities and make a bonfire.

Our shutters shut, the fire is low, I describe
education, the fierce sunlight in Sydney,
drinking-up Oxford, punting the Cam,
baisers at la Sorbonne.
In the street encountering sometimes
enemies from school,
the corruption and ugliness of their out
now matches their insides,
they bragged about tits
but they stared at my arse.
Blow the man down, bullies,
blow the man down!

We agree, that it is here
a shady victory of sorts
to escape to the country
finding forest forgiveness.
But, to stay put is really
to mire the eyes and
a wolf target the two of us
in someone else's garden now.
Angel! Assassin!
Love is not a process of elimination,
we can do without pleasure
but not delight,
in this a green riot of anger,
the cars are burning.

So... I hugged a stranger...
and a million lonely people rioted...
Rebel, the rebel is dead,
long live the normal popular freak
there is nothing to throw bombs at,
money melts like water to it's hidden tables
its normal to be abnormal, anything goes
normal is money, normal as money,
normal is faceless like a credit card
promiscuous, adaptive, amoral,
money is comfort, fear and terror
In a society devoid of adventure, our only
adventure left is to destroy society.

Waiting tonight among the wood
distant gunshots open-up the sky
tonight - sure, come here - take it.
Here, it’s been waiting for you,
Tonight (it may be dusty).
Later the cool grass
remembers the nightweight
of stolen kisses,
you are the moon,
so far from my lips
as the dust falls
the dust dances too.


Tree falls after trees
the forest burns
to day's old end,
and all the ricks
stand waiting
grey to the sun,
changing fully
into a landscape out
of an ungraspable language
light falling down broken,
as we float deeper into dusk
and in its own place ends summer.


At the separation of the evening
                  Peace is a silver pool of sadness
I am the shore and the ocean,
                  awaiting myself on both sides
I wander, wandering not because i’m lost,
                  or searching - but because I find.


Autumn winds know
                  just how to touch me.
pressing my eye-lids
                  like wild strands blown
from an empty nest

                  my hair is long again
chill autumn rain over
                  the railways bridge

over the swollen creek
                  also rushing home
its early in the century
                  and all the men are late
Crushing everywhere.
                  All pipes and ashes,
the trains and
                  the cemeteries are crowded.

Thunder at the bus stop,
all the postures of rain.

help me try to paint the world,
and hope it dries (before it rains)

all night rain two baristas
                  deconstruct their boyfriends
love when young is feeling older
                  Lets cry-out about our gay bodies

There must be some kind of secret
                  hidden in those auburn strands,
why else would you keep hiding them
                  behind your ear?

When you look at me and smile:
you are the man at last
                  who understands the language of my sighs,
like Paris (to know Paris is to know a great deal)
                  the pain, the truth and bare yourself to me
I want each and every single inch of you
                  not just the pretty parts my lips can touch
the cold, the dark, the jagged and the rough.


The gods get drunk
              on glory and cream,
What did we care?
              could we hide
from a storm in roses?
              atmospheres punctuated
with thorns of lighting?
              these bright bushes
so heavy with rain,
              the sky is falling,
my youth is buried
              underneath these trees
too old to believe in magic,

                  too young to fear death
now it's the killing matters most

                  soldiers and souls
and at night the autumn breeze
                  rubs dry seed heads together

and they dream of their former masters,

                  and bees who loved their petals,
our friends are no longer with us,
                  or pay us heed,
In the very distance a church burns,
                  to applauding angels

Curtain wave across my face,
                  we walked the a shore,
that carried itself toward the moon
                  the lightning sparks-off your eyes
fire-cracking across the evening sky

                  brush my cheek, touch his hand

are we frogs? In our marrow do there sit
                  the jewels of unborn princes?

You, with your dark eyes
                  taken from one of Alexander's lovers
mine with blue and gold from the seas
                  as the light grazes your skin
I know that you are the bravest
                  and most beautiful of men

we shared our thoughts on legs
                  my great hairy trunks, yours stalky,

you would have to shave every day
                  for your beard was daily like the night

my lips meeting yours like two naval fleets

                  and in between them, two sea monsters

the spine was broken-open
                  at the place where the sailors
run from their burning boats
                  do you know how to handle
yourself in a crisis?
                  a soldier laughs, a fool fights

maybe one day they will find this library
                  as a sea-cave and all the books
turned into into bleached white coral

                  maybe they would find a bedroom

with two calcified skeletons

                  embracing in a nest of springs with
the etched lines of a lover's carnation

                  teeth bared in blissful grins

they might try separating us

                  but we would be fused together

after tickling us with their glowing brushes
                  they would have to leave us
hard and naked roped-off
                  within the wall, galactic tourists,
forgiving us our ancient devices

                  I need to be grabbed, undressed
and drunk down with hardness,
                  halved, stretched and punctured,
pounded and ground, smeared
                  and puddled with warm nightness
tearing softly, pushing and clawing
                  at skin moaning against shove,
with hot flesh in-hand and push

                  tasting all the flavours of you,
as you ease down, squirm and moan
                  to the beastly dance of kings.

I think it's your turn to read.
So what are these
new impressions of jungle?
this Eden was not the known world,
and all the naked gods are dead,
so now,
now i'm a guest in my own home.
I wish I could leave,
or deposit a piece of happiness
everywhere I go,
instead its just clothes, underwear.
Tits, ass and glitter.
Beautiful people being ugly
All in your terrible face.

To be or not to be American
America Rules, but you
no longer want to be American,
anything goes – unless you're poor,
or break all the rules.
America, land of the free,
has more rules than
any place i've ever known.
If you want you can
trade liberty for security
(and a fat tax credit)

Under the aegis of the kitchen-table
my knee is pressing against your knee.

Phoenixes rise from the ashes of the night
a look from you, the furnace of an eye,
a storm, slicing and bright, white like peaches,
but this is the way of all flesh falling in love,
caught in the quiet, each begin to end.

Between the lines,
moving letter to letter,
syllable to syllable
from word to word,
paragraph to paragraph,
hard and hopeful, I stop,
as I see you reading away from me
inside your voice
lies other distant sounds,
ancient ones,
I loved you before I knew you,
kissing you
heals the world just a little bit more.
When you're sitting there
like a prince wrapped in
my grandmother's furs,
I reached for you in the candlelight
and I tore all the buttons,
…....So then Richard kisses Saladin
all he said was: Did you lock the door?


Life was prosaic then,
like finding a flower in a book.
It was love and poetry. Poetry loves
all the music of the world,
but, the third day,
we reached the limits of poetry,
it wasn't as bad as you think, but dirtier.

You; my love, have thwarted
all my plans to fall in-love
with somebody similar
and steal all their clothes.
But it only matters only to me,
that you are big where it counts,
(your head, and your heart.)
You're a bomb, the bomb, my bomb,
you give me something to live for.

Outside there is
a hollow roaring from the sky,
the sea is light with wind
and the stars are shaking
groans of thunder-head
and love and blue sighs
of fire, pass the cup,
America and doesn't matter,
falling in love matters,
what America,
what god, what good
and what tragedy comes?
Life is not like an opera
or a Shakespeare play,
where everyone dies
or anyone gets married
now progress is planting a tree,
not cutting it down.
We are impossible,
unsuitable, unreasonable,
but the impossible
is full of beauty,
burn my house down,
set my roof on fire,
origins are easier than dreams.


Our kisses sucked out the past,
and awakened the future of summer,
we were trying to live
in a fuzzy ripe bruised fruit
landscape of love,
is everything was more beautiful
when you're in love
or because we’re doomed?
minds consuming themselves
like a Sunday
of untitled moments,
the tangled shirt of my mind
is lifted, and Sex is only dirty
when you're doing it right.
and feeling unworthy,
and free to a good home
with tender mongrel loins
melding wrong love
like a junkyard dog
cock climbing into a sky
heavy with clouds of guilt
and unshed tears.


Our light bounced off the ten inch snow,
and burned it's way into the dawn,
oh ginny whisky late burn ayr,
restless tossing, naked came I to you,
bruised by shadows,
like the soup without the pot.

spaceplague of stars,
hide your fires; let not, your lights,
see my black and deep desires

my sea-wife, rest your head on my breath
deep ways are in the sea,
let my waves from my heart
rock you to sleep.
this is my kingdom of desire
but, languid sand is gone in this home.


This house dust
of time and silence,
the looking glass
holds the light
the future of the past,
flowers by the sea,
Chinese vases tinkle, crack,
and the city of mahogany
wood is only polished by quiet,
and an old lingering love
like the one sock
that isn't anywhere you look,
so we piss all over
other peoples gardens,
and then run in different directions,
sizing-up the two of us
the police forgave-us
our happiness and drove away.


Desert, saudade, like shade I miss you,
all the mornings
bring your name into me
wildness is freedom,
growing pain, instant,
love, a marriage,
like two people in love
in the same bathroom,
be yourself tonight
i'm mad and bad
and dangerous to know
I said your name
in an empty room
I could not stop
running into walls
google me, ask it
how much I miss you
song of the shirt work,
work, the parterre garden
is the cause, work
of the deranged man,
ticking boxes.


Fuck anything that doesn't
make you feel happy,
cut a hole in my chest
and fuck my heart
Resist the time capsule
of past loves,
life is not a museum,
love is now-ness,
love is a balloon, sometimes
you have to risk
letting it go to appreciate it.
Live or die?
Begin or end?
a serious question:
Make love stay,
or die every day?
Thats the purpose
of the moon,
light and gravity
in our darkest night
bend, connect,
i'll meet you there,
where souls can reach hearts
to heal and mend.