When I get to Saturn,
Feet as sure as stars,

I’ll cry out in a voice,
Not a blemish or a scar,

“I’ll do it right this time”
No mistakes or misspelt words.

I won’t forget my backpack,
Cut my sandwiches in thirds.

I won't hurt anyone like I did in the last place,
This orbital acquittal for my crime.

I’ll love the right people, in the way they deserve.
And I’ll hold them for the right amount of time.

See, Earth is a write-off for me
I just did it all wrong

I tried until I bled and shook
This desert’s where I belong

I’ll wear this ring like a holy chaplet
My sins ice, dust, and rock

My memories sullied yellow
I leave them past the airlock

My mistakes can't reach to Saturn,
Though their fingers are thick and strong

I can’t break anyone from here,
My arms just aren’t that long.

There are no decisions here to fail,
No stanzas left to rhyme.  

Just me and all these moons saying,
“She’ll do it right this time.”

My best friend doesn’t talk very much,
He listens sometimes, nods his head and such.

He sleeps all day, loudly most times,
Unbothered by me or nickels or dimes.

He smells damp, his feet are warm
Circled next to my head when my mind is a swarm.

My best friend always knows what to say
If the piles of stones in my head start to weigh.

In that, he doesn’t talk, or even really touch,
He just listens sometimes, nods his head and such.

I got on the go-away train
The same one I wished on while you were gone

My bags all packed for the plane
One last hope left in the side pocket

A hope you might not let me go
Squished between my toothbrush and t-shirts

But we both listened to the whistle blow
And you watched the go-away train take me

How could you let there be oceans between us?
When I can barely stand a centimetre

Why, when you just sit there motionless,
Do I have to crawl the earth to keep up with you?

I feel it most when he’s gone,
At first it doesn’t feel like much
But the bruise on the cheek where he kissed me
Only gets sweeter to the touch

Like salt left on skin
From a swim in the sea
The remnants of him
On my body debris

My heart is bleached
By the sun of him
When he leaves, I’m still his
Every bone, every limb

I wish every bump in the road
Was a towering alp

Face lit by the sun
From basement to scalp

Should each crack on the asphalt
Become deep fissured cleft

I wouldn’t care much
Or feel particularly bereft

If the train should pass
Across the tracks on our way

My hand could stay in yours
While we wait the delay

Anything to keep you
From leaving much too soon

Another hour, minute, second
Just a handful or teaspoon

Your freckles are in all the wrong places,
There should be one on the back of your hand

And one on your knee, a little to the right
That you can see when you sit but not when you stand

He had one on his neck also, I used to trace every day
On the ***** where throat turns to shoulder

Your freckles are wrong, its alright, that's okay
Lets put our clothes back on before we get colder

You’re orange to me
When we met at the beach
The passenger door light
Lit your face a warm peach

So orange we’ll be
As the sun goes down
A ripe mandarin
That never goes brown

My home sits atop a lonely wave
Basking in the sun
My home of flora and sturdy nave
Of which I am a nun

Lilies grow in white quartets
Jasmine from every crevice  
Spiders sew their thoughtful nets
Dust on every surface

Here my pilgrimage ends
At the waistline of the coast
The lemons that became my friends
Will now observe my ghost

There’s stormy seas ahead they say
The clouds grow like mould in the sky
Batten down the hatches, mayday!
The curtains start to fly

Close the windows against the applauding rains
Lock the door, get buckets ready
But the dread won’t reach my veins
I am strong, I am steady

I have a life raft, small and warm
One bed, one bath, one key
It keeps me safe from any storm
And even the entire sea

The rain tickles the roof
Trickles in spittle down the gutter
Uneven beats on a hollow drum
The soundtrack to my slumber

I can’t think of anything beautiful,
That I haven’t already seen before.

Remembering feels like a finger dipping
Into a puddle at the back of my head

Our memories are still water
Cold, muddied, stepped in

They fill the dimples in the asphalt
Of my mind

If remembering is a water sport
Then I am an old fisherman

Trudging my boots from bay to bay
Fishing line gripped in pruned hand

Looking through the small pools
Finding goldfish in a city of pavement

There are cats in all my dreams,
And I don't know why

Cause I don’t dream of tuna
Or mice or flies

They sit on windows,
Waltz through halls

Stare from the ground when I fly
Nudge my knees when I’m naked at the ball

Watch as I drown in honey
Paw at the bugs crawling up my arms

Sit on my lap as the plane goes down
Chirp along to the fire alarms

Do cats run out of dreams when they sleep?
And so wander into other people’s?

Is that why, when I wake up,
My cat always kisses my temples

it’s 2pm PST
my PTSD is eating me
ring finger on control key
my poor and lonely body

I wish my sad was cool
I wish my sad was a day drinker
Glitter covered
Beautiful, dried tears crumbling off her cheek
Misty skinned at some glorious dark hour of the morning.

I wish my sad was heartbreaking
Others staring into a globe of poorly hidden injuries
Looking over my bare shoulders to see the balding on my nape.

Instead my sad is a creaking house at night
An unseen **** growing under the boardwalk

I turn my sadness over in my mind
Like I fold my clean washing

I hope one day my sad means more to me.

The strums of his guitar
fall onto his lap

Trickle down my lobes
a steady dripping tap

When can I be alone?
When am I really by myself?

Even the term 'by myself' implies that you are 'by' something,
With yourself.

Like the self is something external to you.
Someone you can sit next to.

I want to be truly alone, without myself.
I want the wind to brush past unfollowed by thought or recognition.
I want no one to know where I am, even me.

I need to be without myself,
Far away from myself.
I'm just so relentlessly 'there'.

The freckled yellow flowers
Smell like a breath in
Roots braid and knot the ground
Mange begetting rainbows

A thousand leaves palms up to the sun
Indifferent of the rain
Weathered are the paths that led me
To my mother's garden again.

I took time for a walk
And she pulled on the leash
At first, I kept my ground
Heels lifted tip-toeing arm outstretched
Eventually I had to follow my shoulder  

She led me past streets and streets
Of large houses full of large people
Symmetrical windows and faces
Coarse grass reached through my shoes

With a slow jog, we came to a field
My feet landing in every crack in the pavement
The sun sat square in the centre of the sky
As we left the sky turned to ocean

Running now through neon and road signs
Swimming in the dark rain
Puddles splash as we pick up the pace
Diverting onto the road

My 20s were a flurry of leaves
On grey morning ground
I know I have much further to go
But. I'm already halfway

My 30s were a sprint
My 40s a still faster walk
50s, 60s, 70s
We finally slow

I wander now
Between each step is an infinity
But each foot fall
Passes in an instant

I walk closer and closer to the evening sun
A shadow extends behind me forever
And the way reaches in front of me even longer

My love is a Wednesday morning
His love is a hug from small hands

But you can't hug a day
And small hands can't cook breakfast

Poseidon reared his unkempt head
Above the waves today
An ocean monster dripped in dread
Chest to chest with the bay

“Today, or any day at all!”
The shore-side heard his plea
Salt shucked shoulders tall as islands small
“No being shall ever challenge me!”

One gull omitted a thoughtful word
Which sounded much like “Rak!”
One offended brow raised at what he heard
Poseidon countered with a slap

Five foul fingers touched the sky
And fell upon the sea
A wave as great as mountains high
Sighed upon the beaches knee

With a drunken beat of lazy wing
The gull escaped his perch
Finding another on which to cling
Without a moment’s search

Fists clenched around the shallows
Poseidon was enraged
With urchin riddled lips pursed he bellowed
And blew the beach away

Up went beachgoers along the coast
Into the sandy storm
Sun chapped mums beginning to roast
Castling children, One man named Norm

Gull glided softly on the wind
Providing a flap or two
And to the defeated Poseidon's chagrin
Let out a cantankerous coo

In one last fit of aqueous rage
Posiedon surfaced to land
And in a briny blind rampage
Grabbed the gull with swole hands

Gull in hand Poseidon yelled
“What dare you mean sly poultry?
My kingdom is unparalleled,
All pilgrims seek my choultry”

But the oily gull slipped through his grip
And flew quite far away
And as he watched it dive and dip
He came to see the bay

Debris was strewn across the sand
His subjects were in ruin
Disaster spread across the land
And it was all his doin’

A desperate shade turned Poseidon
As he returned to the great deep
“What use am I as a mighty king
If protection I cannot keep?”

That is how a seagull won
Against The God of Sea
Who forgot about his job, just one,
To keep the big blue world carefree

Rain befalls the afternoon like a heavy blanket
A blanket under which I rest
Legs crossed and crossed and crossed
Neck curved as a comma,
The smallest body you have seen

Nothing is mine
My arms, my hands, my head
The water that falls
Lands on nothing that belongs

Nothing is ours
The sky, the ground, the air
Skin becomes wet
Skin and water with no owner

Wet tears against
White wall against
Warm cheek

Loose hands beside
Two people beside
Each other

Several stiff breaths
A few more steps

One stands
To say they
Can't stand them
Anymore

Against turns to beside
And slightly turned away

Enough to say it's over
But too little to miss the day

The other person walks forward
Not too far ahead
If you tried to you could reach them
but see, your hands are dead

Maybe you could catch them
Maybe we all could've

But directions find directions
And we were facing corners

We leave each other behind
And are left behind as well
We do it all the time
If only we could tell

That against turns to beside
And beside turns to far away
Further and further we drift
Until we return to clay

I hate my house
Every corner every corridor
I hate the doorknobs, hate the windows
Despise the bump on the kitchen floor

Every drip of the bathroom tap is agony
The backyard and every tree
I can't stand the way it screeches
Against the lightest breeze

I hate the chairs, I hate the tables
Light bulbs, curtains, endless stains
Sockets stuffed with cables
Set fire to my brain

I hate the way my house stares at me
I wish it would just stop
The wallpaper I have memorised
Is now my life's' backdrop

The doors slam against my hands
The shower burns my feet
My heavy mind with all its' might
Runs up and down my street

My heart is fixed by every string
I'm sewn into the thick carpet
I'm baked onto the plates
I will never ever leave, this house that I hate

My mind is a forest
Of vast sweeping pine
A continent of conifers
In this head of mine

Contemplation arrives as thin soapy clouds
Silent rivers trickle feeling
In the bush, trails of thought
Go for miles freewheeling

There are no people in these silent woods
No creature makes a sound
This is where I can be safe
In a place I can't be found

Hey little friend,
Do you wanna play?
I could eat your homework
Then we could hang out all day

We could go to the park
Or chase birds at the beach
I promise I won’t bark
Or pull on the leash

Hey little friend,
We could lie in the sun
You seem kinda tired
There’s other things we can do for fun

Like stealing dinner off the bench,
Or hiding someone’s shoe
Even then it’s just as good
As staying up on tough nights with you

Hey little friend, what’s going on?
I don’t see you so much anymore
And somethings changed about your face,
It’s not like it was before

I bring you toys and treats and shoes
I run and chase and hide
But it’s not nearly as good now
Without you by my side

Hey little friend, you’re getting smaller
And more and more every day
No matter how hard I try
It seems you keep shrinking away

Could I eat your tumour?
Little friend, I’m out of things to do
I’m not sure how I’d get it though
Without hurting you

I haven’t seen you for a while now
The home is empty and hollow
Like the caves we used to play in
Or the tennis ball we used to follow

The sun has come and gone
Too many times to count
And I am getting much too old
To run and play a large amount

Hey little friend,
When you come back
Maybe we could just hug
I would really like that

And then we could play just one more time
The world would be our own
And though I cannot speak you’d know
I’m happy that you’re home

She drew arrows on paper
Thin lines and angles
Head to hand, table to elbow
A neat triangle

When you say goodbye
There is a gap
A canyon between
That final look back

A still misty rift
Dividing the time
When the person was there,
From when you left them behind

After this cleft
Once the severing crevice is scaled
You pick back up your day
And whatever it entails

This sealed pause is not unlike
The quiet accommodation of silence
When one in a group speaks of something
The others must stop and balance

It is not unlike the dainty lull
Between the fall of two raindrops
Smaller than a wandering tear
Yet larger than mountaintops

Or the void which ensues
A breath out before it returns in
Our brief negotiation with nothing
At the parting of skin

Of all things
It is most by far akin
To the rapture between a releasing hand
And the something which was being held within

What is in this gap?
This sighing ravine between stratums
Is it an ocean, a light
In the recess of two atoms

This gap is impossible, as are many
Not a synapse, but a sinew
A ligament to life
Connecting old moment to new

Inside the furrows of this stitch
Is where our lives grow
When grasp of the next
Is bought on by a simple letting go

My pen wore red, and scathed a struggling stroke
Black became it better, until feeble nib broke

Blue cried abiding stains, after much impatient rigour
Green was inconsolable, and pink was unconsidered

It was led who was left when all else lacked
That was until rouge eraser attacked

Is it a conscious activity of the precarious pen
To cease work as you require it again and again?

She follows the sun
Like a cat lying in the grass
Or a flower lilting its head to the sky

Or maybe the sun follows her
With the wandering gaze of an observer
Inquiring her every whim

Like an adoring child, it chases her every step
Peers through windows
And on mornings, alights her breath

It wonders how one can walk such a life
Where warm wrinkled clouds
Never give way to night