This site contains a few pieces that use ‘swear’ words or relate to sex or other ‘adult themes’.
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
Why is it that I think of you when I’m scraping out the sink-strainer, digging with my first three fingers in the bits of pasta, cabbage, namelessness, scooping them into the compost? We can dream only what we know. In my dreams you are not always friendly but you’re never a threat in my dreams.… Read more
i writing by numbers at hard tables handheld screened beyond sun birdsong ii Dead fire, dusty bin. Small girl with a bag of trash steps her red shirt song iii bird bird bird bird bird tree tree tree tree tree tree tree little girl in red iv Waiting for music, women carry old boxes. It’s… Read more
There’s a live radio version, with guitar, from 2008 (before I had vocal lessons!) in this interview. It’s midnight in Dream city again, with its dark derelict house-rows, dubious kitchens, tables for two, corner bars. Where are the friends I seek? Not in that bar—that’s all folk music. I drop off my mother there. You’ll… Read more
“permitted to fall” by Kevin Gillam Sunline Press, Perth, 2007 The cover pictures, perched-precarious, any sunfaded discrete defined housegarden factoryoffice. Inside, a precise fingertip voice speaks a view from Dullsville’s desks, parks, fences, beaches, from a man’s mind, from a son’s mind, speaking to sea, to sea moon God math Bach waiting for something to… Read more