an accident

"If in the following pages there is some successful verse or other, may the reader forgive me the audacity of having written it before him. We are all one; our inconsequential minds are much alike, and circumstances so influence us that it is something of an accident that you are the reader and I the writer - the unsure, ardent writer - of my verses."

- Jorge Luis Borges, from the preface to the 1923 edition of Fervor de Buenos Aires.

ny dream (with bits of Berrigan) (2008)

It's 57am in Ted Berrigan.
Never been to New York but
how hard can it be? OK.
Came to me 'first thing' - words
woke me. I needed a gun
in the dream & knew why.
Now I've no idea but
gladly. I do need peach /
tree / mountain surgery...
"What am I saying?

Only this." City's a cut-up.
Pass the scissors. Stray. It's
raining bots & eggs, but
this isn't that poem so
it was really snowing &
raining car stereos
pushing out hiphop grinding
woofers gorgeous blaq-
skinned it's 2008pm in New
York it's 5am in my bedhead
street surgeons pulling fast ones
that one's got a knife! thank yr
stainproof suit time your
coffee so you're peaking
for the meeting 2:15pm.


Note: "What am I saying? / Only this." - Ted Berrigan, 'Words for Love'. "it was really snowing & raining" - Frank O'Hara, 'POEM (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)'.

As published in Otoliths 9 (May 2008).

refuse (2008)

(after Silliman... sort of)

A day under repair. Remember my foot dead as a book. Was trying to type but the window was ghosted. Coming down with something: perhaps a poem. My turn to cook? Half-life: blurs of transaction between us. Go through phases, moods, like some old moon. Naming will not keep pace. Downloading Derrida. I just looked as it ticked over. All have a tic about time. Distraction blizzards. Dwelling in the centre of your hand. You’ve lost me. Cherry-fingers blemish the page. A guilt that grows back. Comedown. Log out and log back in again. Need to work back late, keep watch till dawn. As the market clouds. Subtler words leave exit wounds. Remove nothing from the scene of the theft. All this slowdying. Emissions. Heavy myself with. Punjabi pop music strays from another apartment, as if dappling me with colour. I wasn’t quite full. Was deleting old songs. The crouched hand of love (from a song of Creeley’s). New window. Drawn to stories of failures. Driver error. Lab rats in lab coats? They were subtitles for a different film altogether. Photograph these powers of persuasion. But does he look happy to you? Shooting animations in Timezone. Heroic dopamine flow. The doctor suggests closing both eyes. Hyperrealism of high definition. Have fun with it. Happy snaps, sad snaps. Exit the bed as if this were the only exit. Bivouac: noun; a military encampment made with tents or improvised shelters, without protection from enemy fire. We have overslept. Just one more snooze before we assemble. Living faceless, mouth grows pretty dry. Keep meat away. Touch of the air, air of the touch. Refused endings. Everything’s not you in one sense, but in another: come home. Swim your body for the first time. Untie these roads and lift them from you.

3. my father passing (2008)

never soon,
not yet

he may clutch
at our clutching –

I should not foresee
it yet, but

clenched words, their
echo of approach,

open tears,
eyes breaking

with the weight,
slowing of

his beautiful
weight.

2. my father arising (2008)

in freshened
time attending
to himself,

gifting himself
attentiveness,
switching

off the channels
that pulse at him,
unneeded tentacles.

the segment
hard in him

dropped
like a catch –

his smile as
he dissolves.

Dorothy Porter

In August 2006 I was awarded a mentorship through the Australian Society of Authors (ASA), which entitled me to a year's instruction with a mentor of my choice.

I'd taken a creative writing / poetry class Dorothy Porter gave while she was writer in residence at Melbourne Uni in 1998, and her advice and views on poetry had a strong impact on me. So it was a great honour that she was able to make herself available as my mentor during 2007.

We had meetings throughout the year at the Royal Hotel in Clifton Hill. Hers was a Sauvignon Blanc, mine a mineral water(!). We'd chat about what we were writing and how we were writing it; what we'd been reading, watching, listening to. We exchanged books, CDs, DVDs and talked at length about their arcane properties and effects. I was given further insight into the scenes, cliques, politics and history of Australian poetry. By way of barter I offered what I could in terms of insight into the current state of rock & roll (I compiled several mix CDs as evidence, each a labour of love), electronic media and online poetry...

Dorothy's sage advice came thick and fast throughout the year, but in particular, there were two acts of generous and wise counsel from Dorothy that will continue to reverberate...

First of these was Dorothy's passing on of the vision of her own mentor, the late Bruce Beaver. Some of his poems had been familiar to me beforehand, but Dorothy was able to offer a much more fully realised picture of his life and life's work. Not only did Beaver provide Australia's own enduring answer to the Confessional Poets (Plath, Berryman, Lowell, et al), he is also one of 'our' great visionaries. For the uninitiated, Dorothy's brief biography of Beaver and selection of his poems over at Poetry International Web will provide some proof for these claims.

The second piece of especially wise counsel was Dorothy's insistence that I re-read Euripides' The Bacchae. This was to be partly considered as research for my book-in-progress, How to be hungry, with its themes of drug use, (dis)connection, alternate ways of seeing/experiencing the world, and how the status quo demands to be threatened by Bacchic/Dionysian rites. All of these themes are mirrored (and magnified) in The Bacchae. A very good call on Dorothy's part.

Thank you, Dorothy, for everything. And thankyou to the ASA for offering and organising this brilliant opportunity.

- Stu

videopoem #2

Three Lions - Roderick Coover (video) and Nick Montfort (text).

"Filmed in Puerto Rico, this one minute loop is a work developed under the Oulipo tradition of creating under constraints. The one minute loop is read by Brett Keyser. Gallery premiere Esther Klein Gallery 2007; festival premiere, Philadelphia Film Festival 2007. This is the first in the CURRENCY Series."

(by way of) introduction

Some 200 posts in, figured it was time to write an intro to this here blog.

In my practice at least, where there's poetry, there are petri dishes & test tubes, lab rats in lab coats. Everything is experiment. Some failed, some foiled. Some sometimes semi-successful? (only to be dragged down by lame alliteration)

I post stuff here once it's reached some degree of 'readiness' (my judgement can sometimes be wayward, but hey). Once it's posted, I will continue to edit it on here. Everything here is 'in progress' / unfinished; there are annoying roadworks everywhere.

More recent posts are likely to be the most raw, therefore. Sometimes I'll fall out of love with a piece and it will disappear off the face of the blog.

Fact is, I go through phases and moods, like some old moon.

If you want to taste a sample of my work, and see how it has evolved (or not), check out the 'specials' list on the sidebar for poems which are special for one reason or another. Some are personal favourites, some are dedicated to friends, some received accolades, etc. Published poems are also tagged (if you click on the tag all published poems will surface). The links to 'poems elsewhere' on the sidebar is also worth a look. The 'kindred' and 'miscellany' listings provide useful escape routes if you just want to get the hell outta here.

This place started purely as a repository for my poems, but more recently I've been looking to add spice by way of quotes, audio and 'videopoems' (more on those later). In future I'd like to post more of my own ravings re poetics, etc. I'm aiming to feature a variety of content, and am always open to comments and suggestions.

So then, maybe this is more disclaimer than intro.

- Your humble apologist (shown below in pretentious chin-stroking bookshelf-backdropped mode)

1. my father down (2007)

my father down
in the crush
tearful beautiful

if only you could see him under
the machine
__(raining blades,
__time seeping in all ten directions)

my father visibly embarrassed
my father visibly beautiful
___is not what needs fixing

what to fix
___& what first?
nothing’s cheap except the heat

my father failing under it,
or the heat fails him

never thought we’d ask
but come on winter
___need your muscular hand
___on this particular shoulder
______tense as glass

protest (2008)

hear they're going to close us down...
who are these people?
where are the women?

nothing ventured...
air your grievances

the same silence cannot be broken twice
so be wise

Alchemy (2007)

(the third of 3 Brett Whiteleys)

... he became his admirers. - W. H. Auden, 'In Memory of W. B. Yeats'


You’ve succumbed. Tall Poppy,
they crave to say you’ve over-stepped.
Don’t go too far. Stay too far. Settle
your petals against the sand; today’s
a hot one on ego beach. Where we
can see, between the flags!
Swim on a rope.
_________How’d you expect us
to eat all this? What,
weren’t you thinking?
What weren’t you thinking?
_____________Too long
in the kitchen, sniffling;
we want to feel your pain
but not forever. Brett,
it seemed someone was missing,
was not listening.
___________Your rockstar
mirrorgazes; hallucinating
momentary masterpieces,
blown away as studio dust
or shot up as lunch.
_____________You
painted our waiting,
expectations in exquisite detail.

We’ve been tailgating you,
true, your faulty tail lights.

This was a painting of ambition,
Icarus flightpath. Ambition is there
on the canvas, waving, screaming,
drowning in world. It writ large.








Alchemy at brettwhiteley.org

videopoem #1

the books - smells like content

vindictment (2007)

all about you I guess, snapped pencil freakcase who know all & better you awkward as source code you hyperverbal / you question mark in parentheses / yet another tangled wizard’s sigil

[Sure, let’s all erect vindictive monuments. (Maybe this is yours.) Depicts: your retreat into desert. Lived off sand. Thought it through your fingers. Read visions off the moons of your fingernails. Pursued by built-in bestiary. Juiced all gately cacti in sight but still a raging thirst. Only so much the eye can plan and prepare for.]

but in fact i love you yet again you the poem lived / thinking in tongues

[An error has occurred. Start with what you have. Could it be yours?]

you once troubling precocious, nascent psychic talents intimidating highschool teachers (we go way back) / always your scarf stitched with cryptograms, formulae

[I don’t have the patience.]

careers in prophecy? ditch day-job to contest/corrupt all assumptions

[Software is not for you: it does things you’ve asked for. You realise your mail keep bouncing?]

time to resign yourself to fallout, the recluse's winter? but you persist repairing dead philosophers / philosophy as repair, beyond repair & yet life in the beast still dehydrated gills / dabbling in junk gather skulls unzipping peripheries

[Squeezed prophetics out of manga-dreams. You the hero / a thousand traces. Such an immortal. Statue of light.]

you’re not the only delusionist flexing to grandmaster the Web / yours just another unseen site / face the fact I am half your traffic

[That’s right, ring the psychic hotline. Don’t like the forecast? So… ring another hotline.]

two aspects

"... the idea of portraiture and the idea of the recreation of the word. I took individual words and thought about them until I got their weight and volume complete and put them next to another word, and at this same time I found out very soon that there is no such thing as putting them together without sense. It is impossible to put them together without sense." - Gertrude Stein, 1946.

Pictured: Picasso's portrait of Stein.

telltale (2007)

bloodshots (red cables cross my eyes) –
_-telltale,
______obvious I’ve used

_________________lip-cracks / foodless sta-
______________________sis / cold-core bones

_____________________-afternoon: slight OD,
________________-fell asleep online

___________________evening:
__________you arrive home /
___________my straight act:
_______________________no trace,
_______________________paraphernalia locked away /
_____________________affectionate lies

bud (2007)

Have history with you
makes it hard to be
with you when I am. It’s
so beautiful outside, but
outside of what? Hey
now the sun is mighty
loud. Birds call me out,
heavy on the roofs.
Disciplined gardens.
Sidestepping trenches
& amber barrier mesh.
Just another castle
under construction.
Slick & unimpressive. As
if some new wild epoch
could bud in the suburbs.

optional (2007)

which hut? /
train passes overhead /
options fly / day party:
sun as DJ / the clouds
the wider painting /
meditate with
confidence, sleep with
confidence / world
comes more as an
abstract / how to
put these / two
birds talk on a wire /
together / hut them?

repackaging 'evil' (2007)

on the track to the city
a snake says, ‘trust me’,
and what could be
simpler? it’s just an
advertisement, but
clearly everyone
is implicated

/ way the ads burst
volumed at our outer
skin to nudge the inner
what big hoofs more
than a little tampering
with our brittle
___________/ forever
surrounded by cranes
fishing for significance
they hold our dossiers
as if ‘connect’ means my
brand is your brand but
i can’t get no, no no no


Note: "i can’t get no, no no no" - The Rolling Stones, 'Satisfaction'.

As published in Snorkel #9, April 2009.

audio

If you'd like to hear me reading Self-portrait (with wires, city & no clothes), click here to download the .wav file. The file is optimised for playback via QuickTime. Other players (e.g. Windows Media Player) may require a codec to play the file. For some reason I think the audio has been ever-so-slightly sped up, so that my voice sounds higher than normal (as if I'd just inhaled a balloon full of helium!)

The poem was originally published in Verandah 22, and this reading was recorded for the Images & Texts on the Verandah exhibit at Deakin University.

ear tells me

"When I write, words or phrases come to me. I don’t go to them or start with a plan. I start with scraps and pieces and something comes. I never know. I never sit down intentionally to say something. It comes to me. But as I work more on a poem a meaning is established and then I must continue until I feel it's done or undone. To an almost alarming extent -- alarming for me -- sound creates meaning. Sound is the core. If a line doesn't sound right, and I do always have single lines or single words in mind, if a line doesn't have some sort of rhythm to it, if my ear tells me it's wrong, I have to get rid of it, or change it, and a new meaning may come then."

- Susan Howe (pictured), from The Difficulties (1989).

desist (2007)

(after Stan Brakhage's desistfilm)

the night (is it night?) is
_____-____________-teeth,
_sitting round dumbing stuff
________-we have cool haircuts
_______-if this is the 50s,
_____both sexes thrown in dark room
__________-music loud enough that we can’t

____music through a glass, a fly

_boredom sits
______-reading your shoe
__________________tugging our own hairs

_surface-bound
_-sit round dumbing stuff
__________starting cigarettes
____________stacking a house of books,
__his shortlived match sculptures

_later run out
screaming deaf into treescraped
__ horizons, bracken
__________________-slow our fire
_________descend to
__________________________magnified touch

_at some point back in the room
caught ourselves paused
__-dancing it was kindergarten
______________plus an ashtray

____________________our flesh blur
___________________________strung
__________________________refused that kiss________


As published in Sein und Werden 'cinematique', Spring 2009 (print edition).

Note: A poor quality copy of Stan Brakhage's early work desistfilm can be viewed here. There is sound, but you'll need to turn up the volume. I recommend tracking down a copy of the Criterion DVD By Brakhage: An Anthology in order to approach his films through a medium closer to the one they were intended for (i.e. a cinema).

notes on status (2007)

Today you toddle off
elaborately inane, to where your profile

fills out like a bin-liner caught by the
wind.

– John Forbes, ‘Colonial Aubade’


ha survive in a corporate office
without actually working (just
live there, haunt the espresso
machine)

see brother, la revolution begins on every page, in
every line

in gel caps /
in the deepest blues

only to find that
nothing beards us like a lack
of ritual responsibilities

a life of not being able to
pop a balloon with a stick of celery

(not the place itself but your slim scared imaginings of)

like spring racing ‘carnival’,
fashions in the field yet
another vocabulary for
status to shake around in...

deep in the bowels of
some corporate tent or other
you realise luxury is irresistible,
has its own set of ‘classique’ emotions

& one day, with a dab of brio and your lucky haircut,
you could have your very own war

(thief!)

perfectionism (2007)

make all these minor adjustments what does it matter no one
turns up except other
DSMIV entrants other tangled wizards
their pet tangents
_____________-brands of solipsism software variety the
_______________price of life
_______________________-me making my
_______________________-minor adjustments
beginning to believe technology's a blind alley though we too are
technologies writing ourselves blind / written out /
the trees still living seem hunched in doubt
______________________________hey!
_________________________________turn up the light or
________________________________________is that as
____________________________high as it goes?

mondays (2007)

monday nights catching up with the
boys operating system updates new
Radiohead all these burnt offerings
leap druglike from hand to hand behind
raised boot of the car not mine i’m not
'the driver' i have no poison file me
under monk the
___tv jokes bounce off me like sponges

though dead soldiers pile
til the bussie busies us
with his pisa-phallus of
_____________empties

look at us the weary
tribesmen surrounding
a table fire built from
mobiles, keys, sunnies
_(dancefloor handbags?)

damn pokie pub twittering
machines money travels
thrilling nowhere adventures
___________ of a 10c piece

because suspicious of everything
while counting down your stardom
rain on your parade since mine's
already soaked i really dropped the
room make mental note to email you
__________another long apology

as 4 blooded men we agree
PCs are distraction files
& files of nectar for the
dumb-bum bumble bee got
tissues? only 1 sting til the
____drowse of the next life

we make our exit as something
heroic but this too collapses
__eaten under the idiot lights

watch out if not for nuggets
of bottle glass we could
walk barefoot as bronze
kids in a holiday eden
engrossed in our triple
____________scoops

at this intersection of
stressors taxi honks
when cut off & therein
how language, as
threat, first
_________pounced?

stem (2007)

a watched rain never falls. alone in our many rooms craving left-aloneness.

*

stem overgrown with thought. seated in lotus position.

*

we map disappearances. small birds wrapped daily. cannot drink the river.

*

rowing three hours each way between us. to arrive at degrees of fidelity. granting the eye permission to lick.

*

think we’re coping better with crop failures. though there are times we want to murder the fruit. unpeel what is peeled. how we never know how to hold what's dying.

*

in spite of our ghosts, go scuttling in party shoes. go scuttling, eyes wrapped in sheets. ditching dharma, ditching precepts.

*

our housedust. a lint magnet. stem the breath with fluff. dustmites fed on skinflakes.

*

if the rain would pile upon itself. if the harvest. bring breath to what is said.

*

lotus position. the spine a stem.

*

to err. still planting the heart. craving left-aloneness. listening for dry echo.

*

i say tremble then. break with the room. strew dust. be spilt.

*

you say stay faithful. wear blue on blue days.

Image & Text reading

On Thursday the 4th of October I was one of three featured poets who took part in the Image & Text reading at Deakin University. I was honoured to share the bill with Angela Costi and Judith Rodriguez... plus there was an open mic section which included Peter Davis.

Thanks to all who came along and took part. The readings were fantastic. Thanks also to Karen Le Rossignol for organising the event.

I selected poems which (mainly) fitted in with the image / text theme. This was my set list:

Drive-thru
Vipassana
pollen
Heartwood
Art, Life and The Other Thing
Saturday, Brunswick St
Self-portrait (with wires, city & no clothes)
I will not carry

Images and texts on the Verandah - an audiovisual display

As part of eXposure season at Deakin University, there will be an audiovisual display featuring poems and artwork from Verandah 22, including readings of poetry by Tom Cho, Rhys Tate, Virginia Spicer and yours truly. A rendition of my Self Portait (with wires, city & no clothes) was recorded especially for the display.

The Verandah 22 display will run from Monday 17 September to Friday 5 October in the Phoenix foyer, Building P, Deakin Burwood. Entry is free.

Update 11/12/07: The audio file of my reading can be downloaded from here.

pollen (2007)

night air aroused
drawling with spring

*

pollen delivering words
as raw silk
through the unseen
caverns of my nose

*

in the middle of the street,
also high on pollen,
deadkids play lazy karate

*

halogen lamp oversees
glossy 'for sale' sign,
spraying its light,
mistakenly conjures
tilts of red from garden roses

*

on a nature strip,
legless ergonomic chair implies
a silent office of Zen


A previous version of this poem was published in Frame Lines issue 7, February 2009.















Below: Scanning electron microscope image of pollen grains from a variety of plants. (This is a public domain image sourced from here.)

While we tried to love... (2007)

reception clearer now
(no white noise haunting)

been straight
for just on 2 months

equipped with
transaction burns,
synth tears,
mounds of sugar fiction

& imagination
(a sleek, amber-winged insect)
crawls over the drumskin
of my cheek,
drums polyrhythmic
code into me

the latest flight dream,
we were frenchkissing clouds
with our teeth

*

escape the bed
before you
to check the newsfeeds
(a pretense)

another internet death today

none of us can hide the blame:
it's there in every click,

early reports,
'love' in the headline

Verandah 22 launched!

Verandah 22 was launched yesterday at the Melbourne Writers' Festival. As usual, the launch attracted a large, enthusiastic crowd. It was great to see everyone there, and to meet some of the editors and contributors.

I was presented with the 'Books4U Literary Award' for my poem Self portrait (with wires, city & no clothes), and did a reading of the poem. Adam Davis and Tom Cho also performed their work - Tom's delivery of his piece AIYO!!! An evil group of ninjas is entering and destroying a call centre was highly entertaining! Special congrats to the incomparable Toby Davidson, who breezed in from Warrnambool to collect the Penguin Literary Award.

Congratulations to all the other prize winners and contributors, and to the Verandah editors, designers... and everyone involved in the conception and production of this edition. It looks fantastic, and the content is top notch. I especially like Jessika Tong's poem Transformations.

Verandah 22 is available now from good bookshops. In Melbourne, try Readings, The Brunswick St Bookstore, or my personal favourite, Collected Works Poetry & Ideas Bookshop.

Mid-city meditation (2007)

I take off my shoes
so the grass can imprint
abstract designs on my ankles

can't see any other meditators
in Alexandra Gardens

a precious day

sun gushing,
pooling on gemgrass;
river metallic

cars on City Rd
sounding like the ocean
(peaceful cars)

I slow
& stop thinking
for some seconds

then I remember
to take off my sunglasses

& it becomes a lot brighter
behind closed eyes

I notice this,
then revisit the breath

an easy breeze
stroking my face

I revisit the breath,
revisit the breath

until half an hour later
I hatch
from my trance-shell,

look over at my shadow,
my head made of grass

*

8pm that night
I meet Monica on the bridge

we gaze through the sci-fi city,
make new pledges,
smile out...

a 4x4 crushing
a skater's stray deck
jolts us back to the wheel


As published in The Cartier Street Review, February 2009.

Eggs & Roses - post-gig review

Thanks to everyone who made it to Eggs & Roses last Thursday. I enjoyed meeting you all, and reading my poems in an intimate setting. It's always a pleasure to read to an appreciative and friendly crowd!

Thanks to Alexis Harley and the La Trobe English department for having me. And kudos to Catherine Padmore, who also read from her fascinating novel-in-progress.

This was my set list:

Drive-thru
cashed
The Breaking
unplugged
Vipassana
A Taste of Cindy
I will not carry
Saturday, Brunswick St
apology
Self portrait (with wires, city & no clothes)

Verandah 22 Launch - update

I can now confirm that I'll be doing a reading at the launch of Verandah 22 at the Melbourne Writers' Festival. I'll be reading my poem Self portrait (with wires, city & no clothes), which is featured in the journal.

Apparently I'm also going to be presented with some kind of literary award.

As mentioned in an earlier post, this free event is happening from 2pm on Saturday the 1st of September, in the Bagging Room at the Malthouse.

surveillance (2007)

9:38am sinuses go to war

navel gazes back at me, floats
a question:
“who did this to you?”

these burns, slits, scratches
are fabulous

(eager to share)

enjoy the waiting,
skin’s self-repair

*

11:16am have erased everything
sold my guitar

tantrum in-grown

dust rushes the room

thankfully
still know all the words for food

*

12:00pm ‘life gets you
in the knees’

scratch reflex
spreading parasites

while the sun multitasks

*

5:20pm sky is boy’s & girl’s
(pink clouds stretched)

still know all the words for food

& know you from photos
(in some your face survives)

*
5:46pm was once a great lover
of books

serrated fingernails,
bleed from scratching

smell of breath mints

*

8:12pm maximum dark

eyes suck on monitor-glow

no recent updates

a joint to curl me:
night passes quickly this way

muted TV
reminds me: haven’t eaten

*

10:18pm haven’t eaten

(all these demands)

taste my teeth:
breath mints

head tilts toward kitchen

*

2:13am the flawless setup

wired, rigged
no need to rise
from keyboard

eyes unblinking,
learning you

*

2:14am frosty monochrome
intercepting your walk

(that onscreen brittleness)

& full volume
your pulse
charging the speakers

Eggs & Roses - Thursday, August 23

On Thursday the 23rd of August I'll be doing an extended reading as part of the 'Eggs & Roses' spoken word and literature series at La Trobe University's Bundoora campus.

I'll be reading my stuff (both old and new), discussing the origins of my work, and generally talking shit about the intersection of poetry, technology and madness (or something along those lines). Questions and audience interaction will be encouraged!

Eggs & Roses is running every Thursday during second semester, from 4:30pm in room 431 of the Humanities 2 building at La Trobe Bundoora Campus. A campus map is available from here.

Hope to see you there!

Verandah 22 Launch

Verandah 22 will be launched on Saturday the 1st of September in the Bagging Room at the Malthouse, from 2pm. The launch is part of the 2007 Melbourne Writers' Festival. It's a free event.

I've been to the last two launches, which were both well attended, with refreshments aplenty (that means free booze for you boozehounds). I imagine there will be some readings involved... I'll try to provide more info closer to the date.

fashionably (2007)

time I reach the party
all the drugs
have already been played
(a recurring theme)

my selfish friends!
I just wanted a little toy-toy for me!!!

to let the drugs
do the talking

get the monkey off,
write myself off on

okay, I’ll drop the code
if you’ll quit coding with me

all you can offer
is flattery
& these wedges of lime

sure, there’s booze & pot
(downers covered)
like you said

but I arrive &
everyone’s leaving

whispering “life’s too short
for this dreck”

(am I that undanceable?)

leaves me no choice but
to steal your lines
drink you dry
crashland on your couch:

when you kick me awake
I'll be itching,
pestering you

to make that call
(fingers crossed),
drive across town for pills

apology (2007)

sorry for the slow reply

I’ve been sick again,
spitting air,
haunting town without a face

(this face no longer valid)

hungry words flock
to define me:
'cut-price', 'reheated', 'uneven'…

so uneven I’ve been cutting
around the gardens rather than through,
scared fresh breath of pines
will make me retch

I’m watched by a list of eyes,
tailed by some voodoo priest
giving off his dark light

can’t do new people
can’t chase a thing
taste a thing

I mostly hide tight
up in this one-window bedsit
flicking switches
experimenting with the light

no call for music,
or food

I gaze jealous down
at the playhard kids
screwing with their own wiring,
scalping tickets to fastland

they’re ready to ambush me
with scissors,
lick the medicine out

although wait for it, the icing:
my phone is dead
(I killed it)

but enough of me,
how are you?

please accept this
small peace offering:
a freshly picked posey
of eyelashes

Stand up for the Burrup!

On Saturday the 3rd of June I joined my wife and friends to 'Stand up for the Burrup'. What's the Burrup, you ask?

"Western Australia's Burrup Peninsula is the world's largest outdoor rock engraving site, containing rock art of world importance possibly dating back to 30,000 years ago, including possibly the first ever representation of the human face in history. Woodside Petroleum and the Western Australian Government are planning to turn part of this site into a natural gas production facility against the wishes of some of the site's Aboriginal custodians and the scientific community." (from http://www.standupfortheburrup.com)

Stand ups have been held around Australia and internationally to protest Woodside and the WA government's plans. Representing Melbourne, we stood up in Federation Square, opposite Flinders St Station and Young & Jackson's (see picture below). Representatives from the ABC and Australian Associated Press were present to cover the protest, and a statement of support from former prime minster Malcolm Fraser was read out.

Visit standupfortheburrup.com to find out how you can support this cause and get involved.

Verandah 22

I've just received word that one of my poems, Self-portait (with wires, city & no clothes), will be published in Verandah 22, which will be launched at the 2007 Melbourne Writers Festival.

Stay tuned for further details of the launch party!