Jackson

fakn it with all these / in my pink leopardspot stretch velvet fake fur black collar / fakn it with all these synaesthetes “audioslave” Listen Listen / before it into complexly schemed intertwined vines fruited with echoes, wearing black w/flashes of               flashes of gleaming pin/k + sil ver ice + the is ness of… Read more

wait sicksigh wait for the doctor with the broken old toys broken and lined faces sicksigh lined. Song pats my shoulder First published in Creatrix Read more

The shell at my ear whispers of screaming things. Miniature lifeforms drowning in waste and seals in oilslicks and whales speared songless and shells bleached silent on laminex tables First published in WA Poets Inc Fresh Poetry Read more

I live with a cat. Just me and a cat. Not a smoochy, soppy, rub-you-up male— a snooty lady cat. An opinionated Chinchilla: small toes and long silk. Her name is Simone but, like Eliot’s cats, she has a true name we will never know. I brush her platinum fur and listen to her philosophy.… Read more

I often feel sad after dreaming. I wrote a novel when I was seventeen but did not publish it. I have a collection of teapots. I have a collection of peculiar old bottles. I have a collection of swiss army knives. I have a collection of my children’s baby teeth. I once went out with… Read more

Between the calloused shortnailed thin fingertips stack all the pieces. On the tarmac path a stubby, smashed. It’s not That Sort Of Area, but this corner attracts the fling-and-smashems. Ten metres on there’s a house whose bins are kept in front. Stack all the pieces. A nice green, a lucent lightdark green. Too sharp to… Read more