• To stay warm, I burn living and fossil wood, dry leaves and sticks of dung I smoke my lungs to black lace For eons cool Earth has tried to chill me out as I sit at the firepit in my charcoal clothes If I asked, she’d let me be the wheel in her water, the… Read more

  • Only this, the blue whisper of the leaves and strips of pale bark hanging high by the creekbed, quiet, decorative, inconsequential, only this, the black flower that blossoms in the chest of a woman until she can no longer breathe, until her voice becomes silently strangely sneakily slowly this, the blue whisper of the leaves… Read more

  • The moon is a piece of rock in the sky. One watches through locked glass as the other shuts a steel door and drives, under the black sky, under the moon that is a piece of rock, that couldn’t feel the test pilots brushing its surface, taking some samples, planting a flag. The moon is… Read more

  • In the dream, he tells me he doesn’t need a condom because he has his book. In the dream, we’ve both read it. Condoms are a manifestation of Capitalism. A Bad Thing. Probably made by Monsanto. We don’t need them. We can use our minds to divert the sperm. In the dream I know it… Read more

  • the hibiscus blossom closed wrapped around itself pointing north Read more

  • lemon oil

    In this dream I heal the cuts his bareness has left all over me with tart, sparse, sweet, spreading lemon oil, the same soft stings with which I nurture your smooth unlacquered fret-slit rosewood fingerboard First published in Society of Women Writers WA Newsletter Read more