Aliens are here and they are bacteria.
My heart is on heat
the sea swells
sin king ti[d/m]e
It’s no coincidence
We figure out the world
the exact moment we destroy
our ability to live in it.
poi sun on us
the body a machine the brain a computer
You’re the one I want to tell it all to.
Trying to hear birds through the silence
my brain pours inattention
d own this
such a young species
We may be the only things
that understand things
Every morning the first word I say is
Everybody has to be somewhere
almost everywhere is outside
snail trails on the windscreen
the leak in the boot makes a strange scent
as tight as a ship though
you’re still civilised as long as you
brush your teeth at dawn and sunset
eat under the awning
of the broken shed you found here
noone can see from the road
it’s boring or else a rush to get it all done
water a problem to be monitored
the strictness you learnt as a child is useful
how long can you go on like this
in the glory of your own company
silence they say is golden and now you know why
you feel the gold getting under your nails
the quiet is changing your face into something else
like the one who calls in the night
freaks the shit out of you
huge and strange close by the driver door
you lie awake till morning without moving
that old defence still works
and in the first light there she is
ten feet away through the fence
the beautiful shoebox head
gazing at you like you were TV
as you climb out of the back seat
like seeing was only just invented
We wait in the water.
Our realities dance tip to tip.
I wish to never be punished again
by the roaring wind, by power’s accidents.
I’m afraid of winter and of drought
and I’m scraping the bees back into their boxes.
the rest, leave the rest
you can rest when I’m dead
I feel you t ran
s form me.
Spill the dreams out of your roiling head.
Trouble, trouble walks up the white steps
to fight us awake. Let me rest
like the rest
expand into the space I ache for
the skin burns and sings
so run your fingers over my chest
to keep me breathing.
Your body’s the home I come to.
I swim in you like a second language.
hold onto myself today, I clutch
my own shoulders, I begin to
We’ll buy a big new bed
and go through all material existence
meet the molecules in their hiding places
which takes longer than we have here
help me change
help me undress
After you touch money
scrub your hands.
My face has a ‘lived-in’ look.
The poster on the wall says
You Can’t Eat Money
but I can’t stand seeing the stain
already starting to spread
over my child’s shortening breath.
Here we are goading each other
to be fools, dreaming of a two-story house,
those gold stairs, dark wood in the hall,
a bright new lawn and windows
not this restless limp
from spare room to sleep-out
to garage, digging the toes in,
lining the nights up for school and work,
holding onto the skin of the earth
with nails chipped to the pink.
Have you got any spare change?
Have you got a dollar. Miss?
He’s not homeless
he’s full of streets.
She slides from bed to bed.
There’s been nowhere safe for years.
The drunk at the bus stop
who takes off his coat
throws it over my legs.
He’s come down from Auckland,
gets pushed out but they can’t
get rid of him yet.
When you’re broke it’s obvious
how stories fall to bits.
Here we are
waiting for the week of rain
that will wash our debts clean,
waiting for the rich to drown
the carpet now a foot deep
in smashed bottles and wine.
Money buys the insulation of home
which is where the heart can hide.
Money’s how long you can stay.
Money’s who you share with.
Money helps me to forget
what happened between us.
Money is getting to drive away from here
into the eternal weekend.
Clotho on the dancefloor
When perfection appears, cross yourself with both fists.
My lady emissaries with hearts like giant squid
and neat teeth, standing framed in a red
doorway, like time lapse photography of rapids,
so still and moving. We love to watch
psychopathology in action - the cleft boundary
splitting a moment open, lifting the fat back
to show muscle where power operates
He does not discriminate
enough. The radiant flesh impresses
scents into your memories even as we speak
beside the industrialized river, the mall’s big mouth
a calculus of car parking swallowing
your victories whole in the Xmas heat
His teal tablecloth is dirty as an abstract
artwork, burnt, stitched and stained absorbing
the mess of existing day after night.
Voluntary poverty is indulging in living
off of the money stored up in bones.
Honey bees go wild and the dark gardens
lose interest. Cumulous cotton sheets
strike out for better play conditions
erase political contentment. You will choose
what you don’t know yet
but being free you get to own up to
all the possibilities that you
create and kill off every minute.
Once you develop the maths
anything can be abandoned.
People used to dropping everything
at the demand of an addiction
or a fused sorrow,
they have this look in times of crisis
like they're considering whether
to go through with the love
they swore to.
Being destroyed is wild and drastic
and for a while you're intact enough
to enjoy the show.
I can see you choose.
Next, you get to work,
cutting strings and torching fields,
your methods slow and exact.
I fight to remind you
and usually you win,
killing me off on the grounds
of something muttered in my sleep.
Houses built back into hills
wish for earthquakes to complete
their potential, the same way your heart
breaks today and you pick up
the phone, the bottle,
the needle, the argument.
Cure a Casino
The spectacle arranges events
in which we mimic those who seem to live.
Biology squanders inefficiently
but it doesn’t matter, because so much
struggles to exist. It’s perfect.
Television watches us, and youtube
erupts onto the streets. Inside
the rusted mouth of a rapacious economy,
hold my hand, my head.
We’re more precious than the rest
and when we’re wasted, we feel it.
Try to be clear, to conduct light,
to be immediate, accurate and powerful -
still hoof prints cover your chest
where you were struck down in the panic
of everyone else who spent their evenings
drinking and calculating percentages.
The way you laugh is crisis.
No moment between us can ever repeat,
and I want to run from this accumulation
of losses. There’s no way we can get
outside of what’s been built in us.
We are going to have to sit here
our response to the impending crisis
in which it gets
too hot to think
in which it snows in summer in Northland
and someone’s predicted it on facebook
and grows famous. In my own defence
I retire to the shed and write.
You begin to recycle.
He walks to work on Fridays in the spring
and it does him good.
Later, he drinks until the rising cost
of drinking no longer bothers him.
Making wine takes a lot of water
which pours out of taps onto lawns
and the crime rate rises
to sketch a satisfying graph
which clearly shows. We clearly know
now what’s coming
and so we do nothing
because it’s too big to imagine.
I go out to the shed and try my best
to imagine it without getting so upset
that I can’t still write about it
it’s not enough
The police pull roses from a boy's mouth.
Access is granted to extreme tikanga
only when all the words have been gathered.
We multiply signs;
they make their own vivacious life,
turning vicious when the evening's ended
complaining they're still not loved enough.
Dictate a pleasure dragon.
Sensation writes out bodies in code.
This mood's a whole new map
we come to in
in which we learn to find systems.
I accelerate from the last letters. You try
going backwards thinking of art films
when the trees lift off the screen
we're stuck in Something has worked.
Lose the knack start over,
walking south like you did last time,
forgetting it all, left eye on the rocks
staring through as if into far distances
and going so slow that you cup your breath.
When we're inside this luxury
with the lights on, concentration's magic:
the inflated city inside molecules
holds us right off the ground.
120 guitar hairs
drunkin arrangement of complex sentence
this languile tensile throat
appearing untrained to th wilde eye
running down creeks creeping
bad noises inside echo collate
round th sharpend end or tongues
carefully s mash
wine g lass
into the skate pit
the silk of those verbs peckin
each other s lips
the under ground