Dednal. Ret. Retallion. Bidar. Kinju. Alp. Hustar. Bari. Conder. Ravik. Mallah. Kestook. Byah. Clorid. Njep. Stomell. Floska vallé. Bisken . Holdir. Hajutah. Krhaal. Dempah. Vidd. Xooy. Wermsko. Qootja. Bilk. Moil. Genalm. Pirastus. Fledo. Ghuulmark. Yastislaa. Pidlan. Sperda. Wolt. Linard. Curloy. Pittu. Feenkan. Eear. Maarreh. Jintuul. Kotor. Krittimaast. Lopz. Lodz. Rasprook. Buldigs. Hillmar. Spooldread. Bracker. Tollitant. Strakker. Micher. Warrepern. Mostarian. Qandratta. Idokkar. Xhion. Connv. Sthalabad. Blejasnapadek. Falachoodah. Fippenhalstreng. Crunnel. Steppernesspl.

With heart of red.

her sweet sea swelled.

Rich, fanning – ballooning belled.

Lips and languid looks.

Bright petals, salted anemones

ask for it wrong, so current affairs.

Shrinking away – foiling thoughts –

Past Pulsing hidden species.

Free urchin raged, gasping ragged.

Breathe through a jokers hat:

Tupping all the suits.

Ignore what’s red and black.

No Scottish moon tonight

At centre sun, a heart.

Teeth, tendrils and her petal part.

Threatening. Interlinking overture if the last word.

I said I broke it. You said what.

Starving me.

Unprepared. Washing- wasping sickness. Where humour is the only cure. Driving me silently insane. Great expectations and you’ve nothing to share. No output. The paradox of the thing that makes you beautiful is what makes me hate you. Uncomfort riddles me. Plagued my pauses. Riding for the hills of new dorms. Inexpressive, exhaustive misunderstandings. Cold hands hold it all in. Love, lust and the walk down a lonely path. Splitting me in half and half again. A bitter refrain of timing, energy and options. No changes. Backward steps. Eyebrows and solder come unstuck. Could you be kidding me? Have you really be this, this entire time? I tire. Rolled over on my back. Weak with loss. Refusals and suffusive elongations pedal. No doubles, just surfboard balance and a cup of emptiness. Move on.

I haven’t done anything. Lines- not even stand in line. Fart. Comfort. Sun and droppings. Scatter me and my wife brown, erotic glinting eyes. Euphoric.

Hey man I like your Doogs.
Damian Doogs.
Gordon Doogs.
It’s all good news.
Living in the moment- nothing want for lists.
I realised that the description on of a place as sandy, could mean most places.
Put your doogs on.
No plans made. I’m free to be idle.
Nothing want to do.
Feelings ride unbridled.
No chains about me, no links or likes to follow.
No peace not pants just tinny thoughts and all that bed felt fellow.
These sallow thoughts have peppered me up.
Gold and liver lacquers each you fit young thing; no access.
No want to make you smile. Honest. Not trying too hard.
Easy to laugh, you can just tell you can just tell you can just tell!
Leave
Filters
Sim
Gift
Book
Easter
Marathon
Flights
Lift
Email.

List and being stuck in lifts.
Compel me to do better.
Don’t associate with the help- what a fuckless thought.
It makes me wonder though.
If these thoughts are real, where are they based in the world?

Song-

What to do, what to do?
What
To
Do.
Do.
Do.
To
What
To
Do

.Goes the boat-taob eht seoG.

You have as many ideas in a day as you take breaths.

It all passes through me- I am a train, trained. Sickly chemical transaction, transformation, excretion.

I read your Poem ‘water way’, it moved me. -if you’re just going to sit there with a jug getting hydrated and not paying for anything then piss off. 

I scraping myself off my seat. Walk. “I read your poem about water”. It brought me to tears. Salt drops falling down onto soft skin. Rolling over curves with gravity. Dripping down, raising hairs. Halting thinning verb. You are my commentary. My form, my colour my canvas. You hold, no diplomat, like a warrior; the truth escaping bits through parting lips I want to kiss but shan’t. Tense. To be. Time’s passing you, my verb, my vibration, love licked lips- my tear, my curve. All gravity, time and dust. Lust layered laughter at loss. Pure energy, ebbs. Height of my life with you toppling into a jumble of words. Just sounds, strong feelings, just sounds. Words, are sounds. Effect hope and hit- home runs. Our havoc played out/ goodnight. X

Pied. Baked. Fucked and done.

Measuring time by fingernails grown long. Can anyone tell me where it all went wrong?

I ring help and wring my hands on a phone saying… “hello?”

I lost my armour long ago. Now I’m covered head to toe in a lost image. Ironic because I never paired but always tried. Lying down, a painting. Dharma bums from paths crossed and times lost. Awash was the sea of unseen tragedy. This boiled sweet fruit is but a glittering end to all jokes. No smoking, acid taking, righteous heart felt loss. The life that we all used to have- but it was taken. The language is wrong, that language you use: lost lives? Lost?! Loss sure. Subtraction, infraction, deliverance and death. Strike down, this system of grid work. Power and pose and proven peace to lodge a bullet into others. Dead pact. Deathly- loss. I am lost for words, the LANGUAGE. Is not loss. Is not lost. It is murder and misguidance. Lost handshakes, and perspective turned rotten and recoiling sick strange sad worlds. Smoking rubble, repercussions, deep shuddering earthly heaves. Heavens cracking with thunder. Bombs dropped. Drumming in the deep. Mines unswept on ocean floor. Sunk and sickening. The unchecked locker of fledgling anarchists. Put a hand out. Prevent loss. Perfect the art of saving lives, no loss in trying. No loss in honest giving. Put your face on. Push on.

Pimples skin- My, my first line corrupts. Tensing teasing touching pimples. Lest I have the guts. Buying flowers testing smells with feelings. 50,000 don’t worries. 

Shot stashed frets find furrowed brows abound. Grounded thoughts and tannin tears are all I have left. 

Left, left. Elephant. Broken pioneers for forward thought. Emotion and motion- forward, up squeeze honesty and humour. Nothing to give, so care free, caring, freely. Swapping small and simply. My red eyes and hair look at your and snicker. Behind bars, nothing is sugar coated- as you pass me by your limp.

Pink bag. Pink shirt, too tight! Your muscles are too tight, constricted or constrained its one and the same.  No magazine haircuts, no stress or time of day. You joke but I know you. Getting big. Like the ghost of all those dead Bilby animals. Morphing drained spirits into a lost idea. Thumping heart. Clunking head: 

All we were, skeleton. All we were- pod cast. All I was planned for- Russia. Your thin boots pass me by and Inthink about theses payments of the idol: cold chaos choosing me as its first. 

Fist of strutting untimed misery. Like the rain pouring down or biting a gold chain with your teeth. Hands rip and roll with angst. Sliding

Love and travel don’t go together, like pineapple on a pizza.

My hand cut. My car broke. My time scattered. Poison imbibed.

I, ate.aye my love. I sit, lay, upside down and up to no good. A beer to spare, shoe laces waxed. Hair is fair, attitudes are lax. I lay, I lie. 

Bitten about the back, shins and ankles and knees and wrists. Hands hold what they’do’not’see. 

My time is spent. Mostly little thoughts. The height of “I” the cross section double storey “L and T”. E is the subject. What is little? I is. But not capitalised. The transition, Capitalised yourself. Define- create- be sure. No nick-names. Only bIg. A growth. Three syllables for the word. More and more.

You buy me things, I fear giving you my time and honest company. I put a red onion in your bed, by your books, on top on your laptop. This is my layered look, vegetable layers, natural form in its most nourishing form- no tears. This honesty built of trust and respect. This- that wasn’t really mine, for long enough, is yours. I have given you my oddly, an almost shaped heart.

A future where we no longer feel guilty about energy.
It’s not binary-  Close your eyes and count to 1,That’s how long forever feels.

Empty lonely nothingness forever.

You are my delicate flame.

There’s less distance between between her pages, the writing on them and the meaning. Do your folks still still live in Hobart? 

Bill Gates – ‘I like lazy people’.