The train stops at 8:55am in the morning
broken down on the tracks without warning,
I sink into my seat, half asleep,
of course wishing this would keep
the car wheels from turning.

But we’re already in too deep
in the wires, underground piping
woven through the streets,
now resigned to merely typing
for the bureaucratic creeps.

If I could stop
too, fast forward to the evening
light
the fire, close the curtains,
this time I might,
though I’m not quite certain.

I have no more to give, no more to keep
the ***** is dry, the kids asleep.

The train stops
at 8:55am in the morning.

I am inundated with irony,
stuck in the spell of satire,
my eyes can’t see cars
free from the metaphors of stars,
but this evening
me and you

(we’re speeding compartments of light)


and eyes





you see,
you are my subtle hue
you are the coloured iris that enfolds my hollow pupil,
opening and closing in front of me like
hands catching sand in the sun by the ocean.

Our blood pumps
at an irregular rhythm ;
but still,
I am inviting you
to entrance me,
envelop me,
listen as I saturate you
in melody.


Pull your ears into
your heart,
delicate dancers,
wizards of words,
our rapture rises in the night,
separates the earth from the sky,
pulls together
this, our fortress of fascination …


everything is enticing,
elastic, multi-dimensional.

My limbs are gushing while I walk
down towards the seaside pier,
these endings and these beginnings
ascending again into mere cycles,
the rising and falling chest,
beating heart,
transcending

I walk
hand in hand with you, restated love,
the new and the old clothes we wear
wrapped around our breathless poses
our heads filled with thoughts
of rose ridden gardens, and of course
children dancing, playing games between
our spacious Pohutakawa branches
where you first taught me about romantics
without that rudimentary triteness
and you sitting, coffee in hand at the picnic table
swearing revolution is never possible
to I dancing, remarking
“you are such the cynic”
before grabbing you and twirling you
faster than the earth rotates

As we drift closer to the sea
the inconstant wind winds the clock to 10pm,
the minutes restoring those now withered days
of woollen coats, new music and Dunedin
I would stand behind you while you played the flute
thinking of that time
where we played in the rhododendrons
till dark; folding time folding into
my arms, the sky white and blue
juxtaposed against the trees
darkened spikes explore the sea
what was it? me, me, me,
of course, I see
and I
remember the melody

(lets go under the covers
we can play games in the dark
we could even try adding to
those stars on your ceiling)

so now, again, for a moment, we reappear
in this hour, this walk, this air
stilted, shaking
we resurface,
and soak in the watery soils of previous deluges
become something overwhelming,
something insoluble

here we are, on the Pier
at noon, dazed, defused
by a familiar grip on the fingers
index snug between the ring

“take me to the end”
“but darling,
we are going further than that”

before we jump
we tie our balloon to the pole

and promise to return, on horses
painted silver and brass

Hey, nice to see you here
come with me
lets watch the sunrise
from the beach,
I think I sense a revolution stirring

Sad sun, where are you?
fallen beneath the hill shine
tangled in the air.

Breathe in my mind
sun shine, on your sworded hill top.
I’ll be there dancing soon
over the ridge in shaded grass,
dreaming.

Let your flicker lap
and lick at the light
an existent fragile form
and let it be. Gold gather,
mine the heart.
Shine

like love in the cherry blossoms,
like home in the wintertime.

Blinking red plasma
kaleidoscopic frame rate

"RED means insane"

"put a silver in! put two!"

The flashing
King of States
holding a minigun

"is that metal?"

"looks like bullets"

"tilt the wrist, tilt the wrist"

a glass of spiced ice
knocked over
sticky floors

"who cares!"

"where was the proximity?"

"what?"

"of rendevoux"

the liminality of spinning



"shoot him!"

Wherever eyes wandering  
Nose ring, pierced tongue
Sunshine on your hair

Does it comb you into immediacy?
Temperate, without charge
The uncertainty of fundamentals

Sever tone, ageless crystal
Salt residue on glass

Seasons of idolism, eyes down
Tidal motion of extinctions
In and out, in and out,
Faster, faster

Borne from asymmetry
The present moves
Now towards the median
Aggregation of experience

When can I grow into
The shell of what was

Collecting rain drops
In a glass outside my window

where is that Dettol cream
to soothe these burns
tearing up my fragile skin

can’t handle these
children in conversations,
at the dinner table, like Pinot Noir
a stain on the embroidery,

what has happened to the Panadol
on the twelfth shelf of the walk in pantry
we’re all going to throw a *****

it’s all plasters, plastercine
playdough, dresses with cheap
cliché’ commercial slogans -

such a numb drum melody,
the top shelf
of every pantry is a *****,
might as well lend a little
helping hand, sponsor a child
charity

Dark Matter

White Matter

the untamed fire eating at the vacuum

and i'm waving at you through glass windows

being checked for explosives.

Mother and Father

you split when I was two

am i what you left and what you were, what you are?

does the corpus collosum

contain the answer to your waving?

left to right

the linear motion of your hand

wraps around into a circle,

blends into unfamiliaritiy

like a simple word you look at for too long

and i am unsure whether to wave back

or to stand infinitely

e 2.0

p drops

H2Go

V

“whatcha doin’ with no silver
get outta here go”

gotta go on the taxis

1610

that AI hyper-highway
stretched across New Tokyo

gotta go on the taxis
gotta get on that public heat

1612, 1601 and on

hustle me some
ink and paper
to write, I know
the price ( I_know)

“R27901!”

the forgone leaders,
false prophets of popularity
take station, talk about odds,
imagine situations.

You; stuck here,
watching sitcoms on screens
in taxis.

I leap across steppingstones in the grass
that lead out to my washing line,
wait for the wind to come and pass
then drape my socks out in the sunshine.

Somewhere, it’s grey and cold
they hang clothes indoors on plastic frames
walls and windows gather mould,
those with wet work uniforms go insane.

There is hidden wealth in the economy.
There is no such thing as inequality.  


(When I was twelve
my family moved to Dunedin,
my brothers became Christians
then travelled to Asia to spread their Religion -
they said “there is no class system in New Zealand,
there is no faith Cambodia” )

There is hidden wealth in the economy.
There is no such thing as inequality.

I’ve always found cliché
to be the least cliché.

When the quiet girl is interrupted
and played like a character
on a stage. It’s a strange
fruit harvest each season;
different strains, different
chemical plagues. Because
she is too aware of you,
her. To be brought to
the place you already were.

A charlatan of the shipwrecked.
Do we bore ourselves
because we are empty? To laugh
at the reflections.
You could say so much without speaking.
Bear witness to insanity.

There is a lizard
that sits closer to our door
each day. But still runs
if we're to move in anyway.

Meadow Fresh
Our fuel for life,
Redzenergy
and the 500mL V

“William, William
stay where I can see you ok”

Stop                                            (neighbourhood watch patrols operating)
In here
Enter the fusion
Stay clear of the fire
Sprinkler inlet

Open
a Woman’s day

First, a lonesome rider comes gently
murmuring in the dark,
riding a white stallion into a bang.
Second, the sweet chaos of quarks…
play fighting like children                                              
on a trampoline.
Third, the life and the love
of unthinking minds, and of molecules meandering
  along our DNA, adapting.

Then the sensing things
      find their place; crafting geology,
   time and taste, into a land of empty waste.
All impressions teeming, ideas wild, dressed
   in sterile suits, this is the reaping
upon the fearing eyes.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,                          
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
I ask you, one who knows them all
   who walks like Jesus, bathed and masked
into the cave where upon we ask
Who is the fairest of them all?

And in these moments of ferocity,
bright like burning Pohutakawa trees,
     I cower beneath the fury of the sky.
In the timeless and fragile imagination,
I ponder teething things, creeping                                  
   and making their way to Matilda’s
earthly paradise. Take me now;
oh raise me, spirited Fig,
to enlightenment.

Though in my awakenings, whilst light
               finds entry to the eyes
        through a liquid sand,
    I wish all the treasures of the lands
  ka whawhai tonu ma¬tu,
ake ake, ake!
   I wish to find a nightingale                                                  
    with its blood drenched upon a rose,
    staining my withering suit,
  as I pass from fascination
into gentle death.

Do you know The Wikipedia Game?
The one where you find a page
from another page. Let’s say
The Beatles from The USA.

This would be tricky,
you’d have to cross the Atlantic.
But they did, so it would
be written. There, you’ve found
it, somewhere hidden. The past,
replayed
in games, virtual roleplays.

Hyperlinks to hypertexts,
DDOS on the hyper hearts.

Do you know The Synonym Game?
I have played for years and it’s always the same.

In these times of indecision,
we are thrown into delicate plans
and intricate decisions
about the cracked peppers
in kitchens alongside
peppermint flavoured chocolates,
and I wonder,

though you are stabbed in the neck
with stories of existential writers,
I hope you come out of it all,
with an air of desperation,
or an inclination towards revolution.

Then again, I do not see this
red orange feather dancing
through the sun strokes between the trees
for no purpose other than the momentary
grasp towards these possibilities

So I now imagine,
is it here again in no time
to doubt these transparencies?
Would it see through this
chaotic night without prejudice?

though still tamely, timid feathers dance with flowers
and nowhere is nothing so calm ,
elusive, -

When she walks towards those stairs
through the gate
she is not afraid
this impermanent suffering, these
suffrages
I have seen the cloaks uncover
those invisible eyes,
felt the white breath of the air
linger in the dark
and travelled to those places
below the horizons of man -
not this breath, this hour, this day
this life, no, she will not fear
horses in the sky.

you have far too far to travel,
give up the burden of this stilted air

cherio, cherio
adios, adios
make haste while the rain falls
while the rain falls

Fire doors
Fire doors
Push pull doors

Exit on left
Stairs
Lift

No cycles
No cycles
No cycles

Emergency
Temporary
Cycles Prohibited

Stop
Give Way
Open

Humanities
Castle
Burns

i hope to find you someday in the woods\i'll be lost and you'll be wandering

I feel sorry for everybody
- You feel a tingling climbing up your neck-
as they walk with veils through
fences laced with fires and faces
lining fields spreading into wide green fields
of nothing. Except wind
and grass and
light.

We are, after all
blades of light.
-You think you've thought of something. -
At night, running towards mirrors and portals,
turning together in the cycles of heroic mortals,
stars, suns, static so bright
this is the educated land.
This is the desert.
We have lost all our water.
The only shade is cacti.

You see you can't look around the corner.
Everywhere you go there are bullets that twist and turn.
Bullets that fill the houses of parliament.
I run and get shot.

some days;
see you later

most days;
goodbye

Enunciate your words
We cannot hear your muttering
What was that? There
There seems to be something wrong with my mouth
What was that? There
Seems to be something astray

I think it was a cat.
A frigid black cat.
I think it was a cat
there.

These shadows shade
the temporal rifts
of mind
these temperamental taps
of mine

D-d-d-do y-y-y-ou want to adopt a kitten?
D-d-d-do you want my kitten?
I have a litter

Spew the garbage from the pipes
scrub the grime off the machinery
unclog the arteries

keep it pumping
keep it pumping
everyone loves a good ****

I've found a way out

imagine walking
through a rain forest
with eyes closed
in a thunderstorm

blue, grey,
black air.

a sparrow
flutters over stairs.

a red rug of
chinese cotton.

darkening,
days of depletion
these details of perfection,

a key.
/

on
the cusp of concussion,              

                                          clarity


though
already
we are

into deep








dark
infantile
deep

infinitesimal
differential
deep­

Sun dust haze
an old wooden door
I reach, locked
handles, hands
pressed splintering
knock,

The newspaper reads EVACUATION NECCESARRY
Exasperation of the lilting seed of sanity;

the clocks unaligned to my watch
the fridge has been off for days
milk curdled, cheese hardened
this Panadol, IbuProfen parachute me
down, codeine
hits me hard upon the ground
the fireplace surrounds
a dragon breathing flames out of our mouths
and the room is no longer hot;
it is supernova.

Stars sound like songbirds outside, shooting,
gargled gin smells like grace,
erase
the drone of Arab spring
the scent of comradery
for a security station
computational bastion;
calculus of reason,
reputation, family, existential crisis
lets circumnavigate

to the window ,
reality split by liquid,
a rainbow in the sea,
children dancing beneath the Pohutakawa tree

“Hello?”
“Hello, were you here all along?”
“Long enough to see
those purple hues of your dressing gown, you
standing aimless across the room,
you came here today too?”

“I didn’t really choose” balloons, still tied to the ceiling
pop
“I must go”
“Stop”

ground dissolves, glass
mirrors, present, past
pop

“take my hand
lets watch the angels carry the sun away”

Into our rooms, we scurry
into the comforts of chairs we can spin on,
screens we stare at for hours;
there is so much we have condensed
into the slight rhythmic movement of the wrist.
Only twenty years old and where have I come to,
on a desk with a jar of money beside Derrida
(with a cartoon where Plato instructs Socrates)
and the tattered pages of
Foucault, madness and civilisation -
those sick lepers ride a boat, which reminds me:
the Leith overflowed today, gushing
rushing into the harbour. I
looked out the window, imagining
it was Styx
and the ferryman had come to get me.

There is so much
artistry to it all, sometimes
it overwhelms me and I stutter
and remain silent for days;
the swirling air encloses
around; leafs tear,
wind flurries, shuffling shoes
shuffle shoefully
marbles that drop down stairs
knock knock
tick tock, tick tock
old Clock tower ding ****
ding, these clocks, Burns, don’t you get sick of them?
it is now time to begin
the lecture. Open
the rows
for late students.  I am definitely
going to be late today. Look, someone has inscribed
“you are the yellow bird I have been waiting for”
I feel great
Can we write our stories with passion today?
Can we speak to each other properly today?
Can we see the sky rupture today?
It’ll be like walking the beach at night
at sunset.

Oh, god
when will
I ever




Forgive me, forgive me, I was distracted
for a second there
with Lear’s fool who implores
“Give me an egg and I’ll give thee two crowns”
and the funny looking cat that stares at me through
the bathroom window.

lightning. like ego's.
your smoke curling around flashes.
in the night time, the storm drains
overflowing, settling,
piano, pensive, playing
me before beautiful eyes unfolding
then thunder. closing.
i've dreamt for too long
that there was a life
after waking, that
in the water when
we played, the waves
would carry us, swirling,
see we knew the shore,
the sand, soft rocks turning
but not the seasons,
tumbling, if only underwater
when you are weightless,
when you are invisible
forces, surrounded
if only, but
lighting, flashes
rips, ripples
sadness

rapids running into rivers into rivers into rivers

white air.

a seagull perched
on the gutter.

trucks slowly
uphills.

people
in houses
lighting fires.

radio static.

outside, my
professor lights a pipe beside the daffodils,
and we make small talk about the cigarette butts in the dirt
and the history of natural science.

He travelled south in a small blue wagon,
for no particular reason
except the summers are dry
and the air is silent,

….



inside mould grows on glass
windows, wood rotting damp
dissipates the rain through its splinters
cracked rooms containing muses, alight
with the glow of creation, reinvention

I am taught to eat with chopsticks at a fast food restaurant
each Friday night; I learn
to break them in two before I eat,
dissect myself in certain manners of precision
indulge in cakes with sprinkles
spires
lining streets
the lamps in the evening
dull for flashes of traffic
souls in sachets about to be added
in a hot drink, or instant frappe
we dissolve



into particles
about
the place in
certain manners of precision
break in two before
we indulge
impart
chromosomes collaborate

in the rooms,
in the mage’s quarters
dollar bills are sniffed and sorted
LSD and Ecstasy crossed, contorted
butterflies have patterns in conversations
on their wings, in teacups, sipping Spanish ***

drag my son up a hill to **** him,
in the ash tree foliage, faces in the sky
and ask of grace
deliver me to the divine class of men
what am I if only captive to contagion?

After all, I spread across windows
like mould each hour multiplying
to become sporadic, spatial,
discovering the heart’s variation

insofar as we are variable
asking Sophie, my daughter, to empty
the dishwasher, I pray she wonders
why we have cups
of coins in our pockets
why we ache

atoms
about
the place in
certain manners of precision
break in two before
we indulge
impart
chromosomes collaborate

my loose leaf like sway
situates in light, right in
wind, life

leaves me loose
along the precipice of this
coagulated noose

oh hoots and *****!
my boots cannot take me anywhere
today, they
lack distance to stretch

as string stretches all along
our stratified souls
they say, oh
give me a rest

so,
      death;
must you
                  be such an ending
to this terrible mess?
I guess not, i guess
it is not the correct thing to discuss

Let's discuss the
superfluous stuff,
the dramatic tease of interest,
the emaciated conversations of puff,
please, please, situation
and
     nothing
               else, nothing
will tough the brave disguise
of this stuff

the life of this everything stuff

maybe we need each other as much as we need trees for air,
to breathe each other as though we were incense
sensitive to even the slightest slip of intention
but we are lost in superficial reinvention
hapless in this haptic rush,
razor shaving, internet *******
I bleed every time I try
to forget we are the air
that rides the vales of a topography
too variable to be drawn on any map, image,
I try
to forget we are the air
maybe we need each other as much
to breathe each other

Once I was sitting
in a lecture            on the philosophy of art
and a    student       asked    
  why the whiteboard wasn’t
being used.
The lecturer    
  responded           “I don’t have any
    pens”
  And the student  asked
“why
not?”

I don’t think
I was sitting under the same light as the student.
I could see the white board just fine.

morning light breaks
a city wakes
chimney smoke subdues
streetlights turn in
to lights through kitchen windows
front doors that open
car engines ignite
I fall asleep

never thought I could feel like this
never thought I would walk before deserts of sunlight
and feel nothing but cold wind, my heart as ice

never thought it was possible
to break while being put together
to forget while remembering
to be inside my body and outside it
to be alive but not living

a sparrow sits on the gutter
a boy walks into the forest
a ship sits anchored in the harbour

sometimes
it's all too much
most times
it's not enough

Archeangel, cindering pheonix
impartial to idols, diguises
want burning want

point at difference,
crisis proxy
of accumulation

swim out to sea,
swim out to sea

fractured, vacant
shooting ghosts in the dark

There is something gentle
in the way you move your hands
like waves rolling in on the shore
when you speak
like tides that retreat
currents that turn and meet
and I meet you there
in the waves, in the water

because no wonder we break
on a sunny day
over nothing at all
except small fragments
of worn out places


We watch
white mist climb
over the dunes
along the grass
into front yards
through windows

the thick air, suffocating
even the seagulls

but time is never fast enough
to take us back
or forward

we roll over
and over again
onto shores
washing up bones
and worn out coins




the sky is brighter in the evenings
you tell me

I watch as a ship leaves the harbour

On weekdays,
privatised ******* trucks
disguise our secret fascinations
and shift the scraps
of our failed dinners
into piles of decomposing waste.

Welcome to the city,
there are buses on the hour.
Better grab a seat before
coffee stained tattoos
covered by sweaty rags
absorb up all the loneliness.
Where do they all go to?
Who eats all the bludgeoned bodies?

Oh, book the saturated dinner table tonight.
I feel like saturation.

In the weekends, somatic mutations
reveal themselves, for if I,
speak, like, I can speak,
then I am not speaking to anyone
save for the flowers. Oh, so
hurray, the garden blossoms again!

But I mean, in the end, I maintain I am
writhing like a centipede in a dryer,
tumbling between hot air, screaming
“Help me! Help me! Where
has the humanity gone?
I cannot even capitalise
first names! You must forgive
my lack of morals!”

“Hello”
“I am here!”
“Hello?”
“I am here!”
“Hello!”
“I am here!”