Kim Makes Cupcakes

with a care I'd never fathom
having

strangely moving
the sight of this slender
man

tending a tray with such
patience

faithful
focussed

Kim makes the cakes
rise

two dozen small suns
on a morning

Sun Won

the space behind your ear
is warmer than my worries
matter

all I need to do
is hold my mouth
to your neck and
live in

the place of your skin

Sylvia

When we sit alone
we hold hands
and she speaks
and I listen
and cannot hear the others

River Running Under the Train

If I got into that water I'd get sick

but the drift of the waves would be worth it

The People Born Around Your Birthday

bear a curious resemblance to
your core

perhaps all caps and bells of
you? manifests of
your lore?

shades of self
rages and smiles

the sides met with
approvals/denials

all recognisable
all odd

all fingers pointing to an
inner god

Half Asleep 5am

They shaved her golden helmet
and she,
blank as a baby,
bore free.

After the Grad Show

It seems we're gleaming into a great tragedy!
(Him and her and you and me.)
Bright- yes!
Laughing - yes!
(But always with this fine underlining of a bad end.)
My sad friends smile!
Lots of clueless losers win!
And then the clued-in winners grin in bearing loss!
This is the cost!
(Though I don't know what we're buying.)

Boy on the Train

Wide eyes fall like
shavings of

star

onto the
lap

connected to the
half-formed

folds

of shoulder

by long
listless

arms.

It is the
benign

bewilderment

in that otherwise
blockish
jockish
face

that is so charming

the embers
of a disarming man

burning.

havdrom

- woken - by rain
a strange man
closes the
window

Plucked

I plucked a hair from the
mole near your
mouth

beneath the lounge room lamp

You sat, good, like a
child
as I straddled with tweezers

tugging the wires with relish

You sat, still, like a
hound
snout raised to the domestic moon

my success met with a satisfied yelp

Your pitted mole
holed
as a blueberry.

There's a Strange Colour

there's a strange colour over my
city this evening
the leaves sit like plates
on its grey
breathless and still and yet
audibly heaving
a pause in the shift
from the day

there's an odd bit of God in the
air up here
in line with our
secondmost floor
as though we can know when the
end is near
and never fear death
anymore