SKINNY

Skinny wafer

Paper dry

And Sunken.

Shiny, stretched

Animal skin.

Drum like,

Waxy.

Concave shadows,

Bones and angles

My breath whistles

Through

My depleted body;

A tumbleweed

In a ghost town.

What embodies me now

If not flesh or blood?

Everything is retreating,

Shutting down.

My mirror image

Laughs cadaverous,

Unconcerned,

As I hollow out.

Cavernous holes form

On the landscape of my pelvis.

The hills of my breasts retreat

And retreat again,

Much to my delight.

Is there a space for my spirit?

A receptacle for my essence?

Will my personality step out for a minute

To buy some milk and cigarettes

And not return?

Perhaps leaving me

Desert like devoid

Voided and depleted.

My ovaries are tiny nuggets

Fossils showing the life they

Could once supply.

I hold that golden key,

But here on in

I am Mussolini.

Nothing alights my tongue

Unless I give permission

And I don’t give permission.

Is my smile hideous

And crazed?

A laughing skull?

I am at one with this.

Good better best,

Never let it rest,

Until your good is better,

And your better

Is best.

PANDORA'S BOX

The end of the world

Will not be fast

No explosions

No kind, quick finish.

Biblical and spectacular.

Look out the window

Of your climate-controlled

House.

And witness it now

As the birds sing

The sun shines

And pop music plays on the radio

An apocalypse is happening

With every straw found

In the gullet of an aquatic bird,

With every metre of greying coral

With every striking off the list of

Another extinct species.

A rheumy bloom is spilling

Edging forward and encroaching

The planet looks sick

A vulnerable

Preciousness, pleading

And we pull down the shutters

Don the Aviators

Put our hands over our ears and sing

La la la la la

And enjoy the mild weather.

It’s easy to ignore.

Listen little human

Who has inherited the world,

You are entitled to nothing

This gift of our evolution

Has rendered us maniacs

Killing, marauding, pillaging

Taking.

When we have come to our senses

Too late,

And the leavings of the party are strewn

We maniacs will expect the Earth to

Open her arms to the prodigal son

Allow us to prostrate ourselves

Demand forgiveness

Bandage gashes

Sing a lullaby.

Too late.

I fear,

Too late.

Will we be orbiting flotsam

Universal waste

Washed up,

Guilty?

I pray there is time.

But I’m frightened

That there isn’t.

I look down

At my perfect five year old

And look for the answer.

And know there is always

Hope at the bottom of

Pandora’s Box.

https://soundcloud.com/user460194194/dysmorph-depleted-body

Cross-Pollinated.

I let you whisper in my ear when we’re out

And I smile conspiratorially.

Together we are untouchable.

My heart rattles the beat of us

In the sun in the car

With the beach and

Our music speeding toward a house full

Of towels and sundresses

We smell of sunblock

And my sunberry skin

I, slicked with salt, I

And a spattering of sand

With sunned in strap marks

On my neck.

You peel away my

Still damp bikini top

 To see my tiny cold nipple

And warm it with your mouth

Everything is there

My whole world is inside your

Warm mouth.

As the sun sinks our

 Sunburn ascends with

Prickle warmth, itchy

And memory laden

I haven’t been burnt

Since childhood

It is a good pain

I slip between cold sheets

And we lock legs

You palm my belly

My body arches and we slide into a knot

That reaches all the places

And we knotted find

Our own rhythm

The back and forward of love, of lust of

Pleasure of need

And we gently increase

Our speed our muscles harden

I notice a bead of sweat

On your brow

And I think about

Licking it off

I let you quicken

I feel you fatten and plump

You open your mouth and your

Cry coils into mine

What is this moment?

This coming of us?

How loud and unabashed

We are never more vulnerable

Or more beautiful than

When locked in fleeting ecstasy.

My skin is perfumed with you

I have scented your hands

We have cross-pollinated

And we lay

Basking in that

Ancient ache

Dropping into a satisfying

Exhaustion.

On Looming Gentrification.

How many deaths
Do you die in a week?

Little deaths like diamonds
Or rare artworks of
Intricate paper

Popping brain cell deaths
Bubble wrapping snaps
With each sip of wine

Balloon deflating slow deaths
From a cadaverous glare
By a disingenuous boss

The sound of the present
Dying as it groans
Into my past

The death of hope
The death of youth
the death of faith

But a little metaphysic
Tickle in my noggin
A jostle of my medulla

At the base of my brain
A primal tickle
All twee and shy

The tickle of hope
In the pit of
Pandora's box

What is growing there
New life laid bare
By a burning ego

How many lives
Do you live in a week?

Coburg Demolition Site.

This, my derelict
Crumpled mess
Concrete cancer
Memory steeped.

My glistening youth
Hecticly spent
Dog-eared teen novels
Sticky taped punk
Singer's
Dials faded

A girl's room

Watch closely as I
Emerge from the walls
Can you smell me?
Taste my presence
Alighting on your tongue?

Somewhere still behind
The paint, in a crack
Along an architectural
Fault-line
Lies my dusty skin.

This place contains my DNA
Now it contains yours
Rub your hands together
Scratch your head
Lose an eyelash

And your story remains
With mine,
Entwined.

Offspring.

I hope my children never feel ‘entitled’

The world owes you shit, child

So make good shit happen.

Walk away fast from small minds

Embrace the magnanimous

Say yes when you can

Yes when it will move you forward

Toward the light

Seek the intelligence underneath

The formal education

Look at the heart.

Never stand in judgment

Or think you’re better

Choose the kind option

This may not make you a CEO

These things may not let you

Climb the corporate ladder

But it is you who will inherit

The beacon of happiness

You will glow and inspire and

Think radically without fear

Without harm

And I will be proud of you then,
As I am now
And always will be.