Jackson

The flame, plume of tortured wood-gas, whips his frenzy against the air Coming and going, like never, like always, always in transit, never the same No two fires are alike. I had to work to make this one burn. The wood was too large, too damp, too chilled. I piled on twigs and blew like… Read more

Something (advances) Howl of a child timbre of a singer voiceprint of a lover catcall of an enemy hasp of a lover Tick of a biorhythm catcall of a memory resonant frequency of entrapment silent hum of fate. Slur of a drunk footsteps of a guitar creak of a tightrope twang of an enemy breathing… Read more

I hate you. The stench of your lunch nauseates me. I want to break your pencils, crush your delicate models. Let me burn your dainty clothes. Let me near you! I’ll slash your glossy hair. Such fragile bones. Petite frame. I need to lift you, swing you, smash you against a wall, leave your pieces… Read more

I cried when I left you. I whimpered Quiet bright tears etching the inside of my skull I cried when I realised you wouldn’t follow. I sobbed Heavy wet tears splattering the tiles of my kitchen I cried when I discovered I could live without you. I wept Dim orange tears tinting the curtains of… Read more

Bunbury-Mandurah road smug watchful ignons, slim cyclops, nocturnal, lowercase janus: red eye, white eye, sentinels quickened by carlight, guard their edges, ignescent, torch our path: fire particles resident on white “i” posts. Read more

My guitar is silent Waiting to be touched. Body rigid on a chrome stand. Mouth open in a frozen “O”. Strap hanging limply, embroidery adorning nothing. My guitar is silent Waiting to be touched Not knowing, not asking if my touch will be soon or distant, tender or violent. First published in WordThirst Read more