birds of paradise

lilac eruptions move upwards and
i can’t help but think of us. this
is untraceable. like moving backwards
by words in a phrase. on the return leg,
footprints create a different arc. it is at this point
that i realise that the flowers are opening
so quickly that it is frightening. birds of paradise
take flight. we harpoon tiny creatures with
new buds, and cut the stems like shallots.
we sit in front of the vase and cover our tracks.

 

HAI AGAIN

I´M IN TEH STUDY

POSTIN ON UR BLAG

AGAIN

 

wilson st.

went job hunting yesterday. walked down and then back up the length of king st. got a trial on saturday. on my way back up i deliberately walked along wilson st, to see the old house. there was a whole bunch of furniture on the front veranda, mostly wicker-based, piled on top of each other like in a game of twister. there were some ugly paintings there too. the plants had been taken care of, that mulch/bark stuff scattered where we used to cultivate grassy weeds. the wandering jew was gone from the walls. maybe they’re pro-lebanon. they don’t like junk mail, but aren’t silly enough to pay for a sign that says so. cardboard and texta do just fine. through my window i saw a mattress pressed up against the wall, and i could imagine the tension in it, the way mattresses don’t like to be placed near-vertical. i assumed that someone was leaving the house, but now i realise that they could just as easily have been moving in. i thined i liked the idea of them leaving, because it meant i could toy with the idea of moving back in their. re-entering it like an old glove. of course, oj simpson taught us that old gloves don’t always fit so good. and everyone would still know that i killed my ex-wife and her lover.

 

rosespeak

i called them lateish from a bar after work and they were already at home and said of course you can come don’t be silly it doesn’t matter what time. so i went and found the place in the dark with ease and they were awake and we talked enthusiastically and read the most fantastic things ever from a sunday telegraph. and they brought me a mattress and worried about my allergies and vacuumed the floor and put on unheard vinyl sigur ros and i was happy and unconscious by the time the needle must have skip skip skipped the end of the record.

in the morning i stole their last piece of unmouldy bread and made tea and set off for uni. it was raining but everything was wonderful i was thinking in roses. oh petal petal bud leaf petal leaf. god, smooth long stalk petal falling bud, bud petal leaf!

then i got to uni. leaf leaf stalk stalk thorn. thorn thorn scratching fuck eyethorn nostrilthorn swallowedthorn hell. everything went to shit.

and halfway through this post i got a call from work telling i have the night off. i don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. i need the cash.