I put on my clothes for the day while thinking of my next performance. Dressing up, dressing down, telling my story, showing where I’ve been, how I think and; and what I like. If I’m going to feel this way, or that, I’ll need some war paint. The story is made up, so when you text me, the letters melt in my eyes and run like mascara. Meanwhile I listen to an album you created. With some songs you recommended couple with thoughts of your head bopping along. That musical voice, hidden away. My empty surface, all made up. Ornaments. Decoration. Piercings and laughter ringing in my ears. No, not ringing – warming me. Fanning the flame of my heart. Turning on the light inside. Candles craving us with their orange light. Shining eyes meet, and my mouth is stilled, half smiling through a mask, that isn’t made up.

Rarely does poetry jump from the page. In fact as you’re writing it you might be saying “this is rubbish” THATS OK – as long as you’re feeling something. Lean into it, as long as you can write it, share it, give it meaning. Own it and speak it.

A delivery man

Wearing shorts and a white shirt

He’s angry and asking:

“Do you know which floor?”

I say ‘no’ and sit down on a bench peering into my phone screen.

Locking and unlocking it nervously, feeling out of place and worrying that he’ll cause a scene, that I’ll be drawn into somehow.

Angst, frustration, bitterness – it’s all on display and a bit too much.

Play me like a record baby.

Be careful, turn me on.

Scratch me if to have to baby.

Spin me round and wrong.

It’s hard when you’re around, baby

And quiet when you’re gone

[…break…]

I’ll play you like a record baby

With perfect skips and grooves.

I don’t forget the steps baby

And I know, you know the moves

I’ll hold you in my hands baby

Then let the needle go

Play me like a record baby

Working to and fro

The rhythm’s in our hips, baby

So abandon sleeves and slips

Whisper what you want baby

With lyrics, love and lips.

Look to that slice of sky, filled by mountain tops. Tracking our horizon, clouds far as eye can see. Green and white and blue they pop. Attracting you and me.

Breakfast

Morning tea

Lunch

Intercourse

Dinner

No alcohol after midnight.

Climb a mountain every day.

From my travels up and down the coast. I have cultivated an rich understanding of our past. Most notably:

Trains

Lighthouses

Genocide

Dave Travels

“Oh something that’s as dropped on the ground”

You know what it isn’t: valuable.

You know what it isn’t: a loved one

You know what it isn’t: the answer to our problems

“Better pick it up”