Jackson

The final Pope dies. The Vatican shuts its ghastly gates, drapes them with hessian sacks and faded graffiti. Old God-blood invades. Read more

So I will be your flaneur, yes, that’s what I will be, flanerie my technique of touching your Flanerie, not flattery. I will not paint—I will photograph your constructed your concreted skin your starred and lit / your banner camera hair your dirty ruined / your crumble and birdshit This angular flapper frame will walk… Read more

dying dove, withered fern, skink disembowelled by a truck phonecall no letter no mouthpunched untoothed decapitated filed drilled trucked shrunk tossed aside wrinkle correction cream sample yes truck you Avon lady First published in The Broadkill Review Read more

(Written during the 2007 Australian election campaign.) So we fall for the alpha male like every other chick But who is the alpha male? The one with the sexiest hair? No. The one with the biggest corporation? No. The one with the most friends? No. The one with the cleverest ideas? No. It’s the one… Read more

     2007 George Bush is not the problem. John Howard is not the problem. Rupert Murdoch is not the problem. I am. I am the problem. The strange wars and strange weather. The sweatshops. The continuation of hurt and hate, disregard, disharmony. I am the reason. I ask, who can save the world? You know. The… Read more

I am a woman and I speak. I am a woman with lines on her face and I speak. I am a woman with lines on her face and scars on her belly and I speak with the voice of a mother I said, a mother twice split once by a scalpel once by the… Read more