Jackson

is the scream of a baby who wants nothing / more than to be picked up and played with is not / hungry is not wet is not too hot or cold has nothing / physically wrong with it just wants to be picked / up out of the cot with the pastel blankets … Read more

I sit down in my country that is now constantly at war Afghanistan Iraq ISIS I sit down in my country that is now constantly at war The Roman Empire Orwell’s Oceania I sit down with a rosehip and hibiscus tea clear and red in a mug printed with a green hippo I sit down… Read more

In a dream, I pretended a penis, imagining the feel of it hanging below my pubic bone. In the mirror it was pale red. Skirt hiked up, I stood there pretending to swing it around. With my pataphorical penis I went into a toilet and lifted up the seat. But the damn thing spattered the… Read more

The building’s ungainly. Glassed-in balconies bulge      from dirt-coloured walls.      Not tall, not squat, it neither looms nor crouches. It stands, seven levels,      behind its frizzy hedge,      its toothy gate. But I don’t have to judge it as I go along the path.      I live within, in the space      behind the windows where breezes twirl through… Read more

the young policeman hangs his hat on his gun Read more

the haiku poet broad feet in delicate shoes small white feather facing the stratus sky a beggar’s hand spring in the Cultural Centre lavender tangles with banksia in the city no-one notices the ten-metre wall a spring seedling three tiny leaves meet an enormous shoe wind blows out my candle but not the one on… Read more