Jackson

Waiting for Venetian lines lines lines crammed crumpled under paired square staring windeyes. Gaping sash crooked mouth: what spilled out? What content behind the solemn concrete paintedwhite brow? No nose: can’t smell the dim plastic pipes creeping over the dank dark wall. What flows? What ghostmonster lurks silver bullet train[ed] all eye in that mouth,… Read more

If I may have your love I will treasure it not as a jewel, not as a keepsake, but as a favourite book, kept on the table, taken on the train. I might bend its spine. I’ll try not to break it but I can’t promise. If some pages loosen I’ll tape them back in… Read more

I hope he’s sleeping in in her arms and lazily making love and having breakfast and all of that. I hope that. Yeah, it hurts. But it hurts a whole lot more to imagine him lonely. Read more

Walking on Queensberry Street one Saturday night we find a single red rose: longstemmed, cellophaned, perfect. I pick it up in my black-gloved hand. If you’d been anyone but you I’d have said “For you sir” with a flirty bow and a smile, with a performance. We discuss how it might have got there and… Read more

Just text me, will you? I don’t know where you are but I’m in the park with my phone, crying behind sunglasses So life is really friends & their babies and not these obsessions and loves? Life is that? All the shallow smiles? A man does tai chi, or something. Does it help? He does… Read more

McMansions on fake waterfronts under Melbourne’s wide smog I wish I hadn’t had kids then I could just sit in the Black Cat in Fitzroy drinking coffee and tea until the water runs out with no-one to explain it to why we did it and why these McMansions will never be anyone’s heritage. Read more