Monday, September 28, 2009

perilous

being in the yard
and looking down
onto the yard
late in the weekend
when rain sits
behind
the hour calling

there’s something of it
you played real
under trees
a light at the top
of your head

when you enter there
you will not come back

la vida loca

‘I wanted to get lost in the city’

someone came up the drive

‘I guess you two know each other’

it’ll take time

we’ll make a long story even longer

going to sleep stretches the night

enjoying the acrobat music

needing to move, ‘to do nothing’

it was a lot of work to finish high school

one day I picked up the phone

I flew to Mexico City

next Friday I debuted in this show

in the first six months I realised

‘talk to me yeah baby'

‘like, every woman in history’

after the show I hopped a plane, went to Italy

living la vida loca

imagine the press release

‘I stopped for a second’

I'll die and think about those days

I need to play with my dogs

I look in the mirror in a Japanese hotel

what became of the weeklong party?

to persist

in a life crowded
with secrets
and hours open
to them,
windows with too
much movement,
strange airs, unbalanced
directions,
particulars, graces,
oceans

they are athletic
keeping watch
on night thinking,
they're not sure
who they love most,
does it matter
if a kiss doesn’t arrive
on time,
take off its text,
hide it in quiet,
if no secret
still persist

quarantine

Where did that truth go?
Off maps,
cut at edges

The carpet, too, is shaking
It also has blood,
is closing on ground

Lines to read
a picture of death
and wood bones crack

All I have, my feet
and thin palms
as morning stamps my back

Lost map,
lost stars,
soul’s spine

the elements

How clear is the night air,
its wings are corner of the eye stuff,
falling, primordial,
as you talk to yourself,
why did we part, friend,
when did the dust come?

Be careful,
do not walk home alone,
but where do you belong?
Backwards and forwards through time,
in what’s lost, weather patterns
won’t leave me alone.

We need to see the photographs
before we choke
on flowers, on flames,
quartzite energies.

What is wrong with the elements,
who has locked the door,
what is that rain,
is it ancient or televisual?

Drowning in the air
you need a drink.

animalia

I'm heading over east this week, first to do some things in Sydney and then heading up to Newie, en train, so to speak, to do a panel discussion and a reading for the critical animals gigs at TINA.

Sat 3 Oct: 9.30am – 11.00am
CONTEMPORARY POETICS (LOOKING IN): THE PLACE OF THE EXPERIMENTAL IN CONTEMPORARY AUSTRALIAN POETRY
City Hall: Banquet Room

Is experimental poetry now the norm in Australia and what does experimental mean in 2009? Who makes up the audience for experimental poetry? Does the diversity in Australian poetic practice entail a progressive, permissive playing-field? This engaging and exploratory panel discussion includes readings by the panellists.

Featuring: Stu Hatton, Derek Motion, Michael Farrell, Jill Jones

Facilitator: Aden Rolfe


Sun 4 Oct: 9.00 – 10.00am
BREAKFAST POETRY COLLAGE READING
City Hall: Banquet Room

A selection of Australia’s most interesting experimental poets read their collaged and cut-up works. Come and join us for coffee, a croissant and some radical language play.

Featuring: Michael Farrell, Jill Jones, Stuart Cooke, Jal Nicholl

Friday, September 11, 2009

miasma

Smoke died in the air

my cavities taste it

higher than hidden waste

sight under lids

blisters flame rock

scent distances air

still more miasma

mistakes

What if there were no signs, and you took a wrong turning and made a mistake?

What if signs were no longer important?