Not normally one for a fight
I’d normally run into a fight with a spork (instead of a penknife)
Thinking I was being smart of something
Working laterally at the problem

Once I was asked to do a cartwheel
So I did a triple standing backflip and broke my neck
And I never wear a suit and tie for that reason

And I hover around normally about two feet in the air
It’s more comfortable up there, or maybe I’m just fixing world problems – who knows

But I still go for a punch up with the local 10 legged tentacle monster down the cafe on Tuesday mornings, which gives me a good training for life tomorrow



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“Do you remember the stars?

They crashed down the other day

Yeah – fell into reality

We realised there’s no point in them

They’re so far away

So they fell down into the sea

There’s a couple at the bottom of the Tasman”


“I suppose that’s why people can’t be assed to go and get ‘em” I said

“They’re so far away.”



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Today’s a fresh fruit, Monday skydiving

Again, stop.


Have a good time

The cycle never sleeps
The sixth time that you took from the jar

Pay the pennies in
But bills will come and flip – hard

The same stories
Try to view this from a distance

It’s good riddance

Same religion inflicted by this sick rhythm that riffs on memories and rips them
Onto the eyes of beholder
Can’t see it, more like lens less like blinds that can roll up that
Stay throughout the day
See a memorable face
Turned to a bad way
Back to the bad place
Where stand waits
And sand slates feel so good to the palm –
like water on napalm
Just stay calm its never to late to stop harm
Eyes inflated like tubes, a hate farm

Stuck in the head again

Gonna go back to bed again

Reconcile with the red again
It’s the third time this week

Stare at the bed sheets



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I Couldn’t Slow Down

I’m just the wind

The hills and trees stay put

I’m blown through them

Like the unspoken word; I’m the potential,

What might have happened

Had the stars been aligned,

Had the moon been positioned right

Against the waters


I’m a bad dream

What could happen

Like the simmering pot, keep the lid on

The light shines through, but it’s looking pretty grey outside


I serve you, not me but you

This guy over here

The one with the straight spine

The smiling one


Heart in hand I’m bending over backwards

So I hit the wall too fast

I guess one might say I skipped a beat

I couldn’t slow down


Looking now, I position the truth

Don’t try to touch, you’ll hit the floor – hard

It’s all about boundaries you see

Couldn’t be you without me


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Photography by Joao Jēsus

Experiments in Serendipity

We grow like trees in the daylight

We move like pines on the floor

When the wind in the evening carries us our hearts

We decide on the find that we’re given unto.


Love is a forest in the moonlight

Love is the pines on the trees

Love is the heart the will (does) carry us through

It is the pine and the needle gone through


Heart is the organ of suffering

The one pine that the needle won’t show

Half of this life is spent moving it’s glow

Heart is the wind and the snow


Soul is the moon in the evening

It is the wind in the sun and the snow

It is the breeze that does move all these pine needles along

It’s the fear of the love that will go


Sometimes I feel like you know me

Others I feel like you don’t

The heart that does pump blood between us

Get’s stuck as a lump in my throat


Half of the evening has left us

Half of the blood moon has dawned

Some of the people in Italian streets

Are the ones who would give us our dawn


Sunlight still shines on the paving stones

Even though we are not there

The clock striked 11 and it turned to the 12

My love left her love in the air


Sundays have turned into saturdays

Then back into Sundays again

The rift that has gone inbetween us

Still exits as it does from my head


The fallow golf struck in the morning

The deer that is far from it’s home

The bird that is sat in tree smiling

Singing songs of a lover that’s gone


Farewell to I

Farewell to you

The snow sits so soft in my womb

This heart is pumping

The mellow dry bloom

and it sometimes reminds me of you.


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Soul Food

Every summer, and every winter

The last of the food hangs from the gallows

swinging in the breeze

a reminder to breathe


that summer comes to leave,

that wish’s fruits don’t grow on trees,

that this may be the last taste

and the scales can’t be weighed they’ve gone away


When the ground is reached, the soft true ground

The sky seems so much smaller

but it’s only up from here


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Photography by b.