As you are by now painfully aware, there two kinds of people in quarantine: the single and the partnered. I fall into the former category and as a result, find myself spending no small volume of time in the company of the very gorgeous Asa Akira. Continue reading
The floor to ceiling hotel window is
A lidless, depthless, staring midnight eye
The bed’s reflection breaks along its gaze
Sheets rolling in a long, disordered line
Face down, the weave of hair conceals her face
As tattered heart’s words tumble to the carpet
I am complicit: dumb, and blunt and hard
Plumbing a womb of shit and barren darkness
Later: scrutinised by bathroom light
Sitting naked with my head in hands
Marooned in a field of arid, empty white
Revealed to be the object that I am
Next door: drooling, drunk and stoned and slurring
Maybe, words (I think) she might be crying
2.
Galileo said that mathematics is the true language of God. Editions of the Koran, decorated with fields of geometric lines that can be seen in museums all over the Middle East – and the way those designs find their way into the ceilings of Mosques throughout that region – bear Galileo’s dictum out. Continue reading
1.
Nothing locks a reader out of an article like hyperbolae, but it’s a struggle to find any terms other to describe what was experienced at Tool’s most recent Australian shows. Continue reading
Headlights blossom across the rainswept screen
As the rain hammers on the roof of the cab
When the rabble parts she’s suddenly seen
Dragging her little suitcase through the pack
Her lips, her brows and soundless bell of hair
Are as memory drew them, just the same; but
Her eyes are mercurial ghosts that skim the glare
And glide beneath the dappled shadows of the rain
My apprehensive kiss flows into a crude embrace
And the sharp breath through her nose is frustration
As she turns, looks out the window to hide her face
And disappointment corrodes my elation
Whether it’s love or courage, I hardly know
But this can only be perfect if I let her go.
The sting in my hand from where I’ve struck her
The welt that’s swiftly rising on her thigh
The mark glaring through its suntanned lustre
The bolt of pain that taints her almond eye Continue reading
