Ruby Street

for the first moment the song is your hard life a voice dreams your thought your spirit with all its riot as here music moves through night and the city lodges in you you say "I’ve just one other sea one city more than this” but your corpse will also enter reminiscent of all aphrodisiacs consequently, though you destroy the white boat is here only for you each road is not a possible road since you ruined time each number walks alone and its uproar disturbs the pushes each judgement has its secrecy the shutdowns of therefore each possible way will destroy and endure, only you

1. Trouble this night will move loneliness its hesitant shade soaking asphalt sleep the heads of walkers trembling Pleasure I wake with fever day I make a greeting as yield softening this evening of remorse howling with the dogs Memory the ravages the city not visible any more the tombs at last Goodbye human flowers start words filled with long time leaven of an abyss 2. Trouble night also winds its coil of hesitant colour on wet bitumen where sleep lends its trembling Wish Observes its fever of daily wake up as fruit softens remorse forms its dog which destroys memory Recall ravished suns the city is not quite the grave Valediction a long time somehow to be adjusted which is a song of the world filled with a miracle wild-life span an abyss is a drug 3. Difficulty night equals its isolation coiled the color of bitumen bathed in half-sleep tremolo of a driver Beadings of Pleasure Fervent, wide awake daily paper, a good salute for now apple shapes remorse evening’s growl Apart those beat...

Well, Sydney did Earth Hour tonight: billed as a "commitment to reducing global warming". So, a lot of the lights of the city were turned off for an hour tonight. Don't think anyone else in the world did it. Did they? Annette and I dug out a few candles and turned off our lights and most other stuff for an hour from 7.30 pm till 8.30 pm. Well, a little bit before and after, an Earth Hour And A Quarter. Although the lights were supposed to go out around the CBD, I walked up the street to the ridge around 8.20 pm and noticed that, while some of our streets seemed quite dark, the city was still a bit lit. I waited till 8.30 and not much happened, no great flood of light again. I met a neighbour who wondered as well. I said maybe it's because it's a Saturday and not many building lights would have been on anyway. Anyway, I got to talk to some of the neighbours I hadn't really met before. Annette had decided she would stay home, so she wasn't with me. She wa...

we never realised until that we’d not connived inside as raising order and the yard our hero was, the sky of that daily piece, its poor deforms a way that fears a left thing slightly butterfly a tap in firmament, direct light is reaming distance more that’s separated then together to an ocean the illumined system, never hear seas of the flawed totality that’s torn a brigand of the ether a veil was to reveal me this and all within, the zone and distance, as surely I approached its digging continued angles motives of a food, alfalfa saturates reputed forces, a layer the flagstone’s vector is a time one remains, computer as a place with that crow, whose nevermore is the crosspiece, my irony still, here’s pieces of the way along that bird of speech they wait with my internal part that caws with which, and more

It's a state election day today. We lined up like good citizens and cast our potsherds into the pile. Not much of a choice, Mr Fluffy and Mr Budgie . Whoever you vote for, a politician always gets in. The schools will still be a shambles, the train system will continue breaking down and we will now have to drink desalinated water. Then we went and had a late breakfast, caught a train to town and saw the manga exhibition (good cattledog ). It had rained by the time we got back, wet washing, blessed water. Still as humid as, and still awaiting the change.

Stations have not wrapped around you as string sounds might if they may, autumn or June cold coming close. March is still safe march on like a highway. Uncertainty magnifies loud voices the little tyrannies of boredom. Perhaps sex on a train would be quick. Fuck the indicators! They mean nothing. The city’s spilt seed is gashed by taxis. I have no balls to hide nothing to hang on to the levers don’t work anyway. Maybe it’s an election strategy you’re too tired to believe in - the sore arse and the sorry breast whipped and milked. Perhaps it’s more fun than breathing.

Tom Beckett interviews me at e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-e-s . Yes, the lines are open between NSW and Ohio. It took a little while because of all the to-do I've been through lately. But I did get it together eventually. Enjoy! And thanks, Tom. It was fun. (Read all the other interviews as well.)

The new edition of foam:e is now online. Poets featured include Michael Aiken, Marcia Arrieta, Chris Bell, Iain Britton, Joanne Burns, Sam Byfield, Jill Chan, Alison Eastley, Raymond Farr, Kristin Hannaford, Libby Hart, Anne Heide, Donald Illich, Carol Jenkins, SK Kelen, Misbah Khokhar, Heather Matthew, Vlanes (Vladislav Nekliaev), Maurice Oliver, Jody Porter, Ynes Sanz, Nathan Shepherdson, Louise Waller, Samuel Wharton, Les Wicks and Jena Woodhouse. And Les Wicks has put together a homage to poets who have either taken part in or will take part in the Festival International de la Poésie at Trois-Rivières, Quebec. Poets featured include Bernard Ascal, Gaston Bellemare, Maxianne Berger, Eric Charlebois, Sylvestre Clancier, David Fraser, Abigail Friedman, Paul Gilbert, Philip Hammial, Jill Jones, Marcel Labine, Martin Langford, Dyane Léger, Erik Lindner, Rufo Quintavalle, Daniel Samoilovich, Paul Savoie, Lambert Schlechter, Carolyn Marie Souaid, Jacques Tornay & Hyam Yared.

OK I tagged some folks regarding the meme that Tom Beckett tagged me for. Here's the results from Ivy , Andrew and Ernesto . I also tagged Chris Murray but she seems to be having some internet isshews in Bahrain. Perhaps there's some common threads: rain or water, rock or stone, streets, weather, smell (scent), touch, music or something percussive.

Thank you to all who've wished me well (and offered virtual chicken soup), on-line and off. One day at a time. You can't worry about what can't be changed (my brother told me that last week).

Write slowly and compose in air Your mind walks with ghosts on the ceiling Stand as you move into your limbs Love your fences and stone as you may There’s no reply that won’t hurt you

Tom Beckett tagged me with this meme: "I now propose a new tag: Things which one has read and has been influenced by which are not confined to those paper-bound vessels of the printed word we refer to as books. Let's call these Non-Books. Or maybe Impossible Books. Or Limen Books? It's up to you." --J. Bradshaw Could be lots of things but here's some: raking light the emptiness of afternoon at home, while sick, punctuated with fugitive neighbourhood sounds, machinery buzz, cars, birds (this comes from childhood) the smell of jasmine in september spring beginning to cook a meal, bringing the ingredients together, to the oil the smell of rain on summer streets the beginning of so many old songs (too numerous ...) - that strum, tick of percussion, bass rumble the birds outside our back window the sound of the mail arriving, even if it will be crap or bills watching the sky, clouds, weather from a work desk the smell of railway stations breeze on skin a hand on a bo...

I've been pretty unwell for more than two weeks, in bed on and off. Went back to work twice, too soon. There's unwellness in the family. It has been extremely stressful, and so, no posts. But I made myself this afternoon.