present

present

it goes to show how i stay true
though even now noone can tell
i found a present just for you

fixing her as good as new
i freed her from her hardened shell
it goes to show how i stay true

i fed her breath, she slowly grew
she bore her blows, and bore them well
this bird’s a present just for you

bursting out into the blue
she broke the borders of her cell
it goes to show how i stay true

flying like she never flew
each stroke a striking of a bell
my bird is flying home to you



it’s something we already knew
caught within this villanelle
making words at last ring true
our bird has died. a gift for you







          After 새 (bird); words by Kim Yuna (김유나), music by Jaurim (자우림)

Four Word Game Play

Four Word Game Play.

rare meet half rock
star half dumb cunt
can’t wait fuck hard
good wait sigh done

grin kiss turn away
game over dump girl
gone fuck shit fuck
dumb cunt? just cunt

don’t play this game
take lift onto roof
lead away high time
bare body rule free

look down deep drop
last look wait… jump
**************************game over game over**************************
**************************game over game over**************************

nonsmoking

nonsmoking


she never had the willpower
to take up smoking

her friends got sick
of all her lies
“today’s my last day i’ll start
tomorrow”  “i had one just last week”
“i can start if i want to”
they’d heard it all too many times

and the tension around the house
all that sneaking

she had to duck into a pub
on her way home from work
to absorb its fog of cigarettes
hoping it would mask the shame
another day of non-smoking

pathetic

she’d sit in the pub passively
envying the smokers’ cool ease
longing to share
their sweet stale aura

it wasn’t easy
no smoko
no way to start a conversation
no “come and join us for a smoke”
that whole smoke culture
of giving taking sharing smokes
denied
and even after
all those patches nicotine gum boyfriend’s glares three day plans toll free advice
nothing

she’d have to admit it sooner or later
she just didn’t have the strength
to quit

words

it’s hard to keep these words working without somehow
going wrong
they contain something beneath understanding

in its way it’s as dangerous as strapping bombs
to bodies
i mean they are those bombs and that’s what straps

them fast to each shaking breast. it’s one thing
to keep
track of them like this, another to keep entirely free

of blame. so once enough of these words are strapped
the pulse
of pressure trapped within this hot mass will finally

escape


it’s movements like these that don’t
surface til they reach a point of freedom

australia sonnets

Australia Sonnets



she’s doing history
over in Perth
and doesn’t really mind
being away from home.
she loves to lie
on the white sands
of the city’s beaches. once, on a dare,
she slyly slipped out her left breast
and snorted at those apes,
eyes breaking like sores
as they worked their frustrated paws.
everything about them is so… grey.
it’s sickening they survive
so well - can they do nothing but pullulate?

she thinks of home,
far away over those red sands
drowning her mind.
it’s hard to survive
this country, its history
a mess of sores,
a history of apes.
mouthing learned words like … “pullulate”,
they call themselves blameless, but they lie.
it’s disgusting how they dare
to pick so at this country’s tender breast
with such savage, greasy paws.
they’ve mauled it, left all lifeless, grey,
and chased her all the way to Perth.




clearly Perth
wasn’t far enough. can she dare
make such running home?
how can she survive
this land, its history,
this mass of grey
beating her breast?
the dance of apes
is danced now in her mind.
they…well…pullulate
her spirit’s teeming sores.
it’s enough to give one pause:
does the only chance of peace now lie
under those unspeaking sands?

what does “pullulate”
mean anyway? what is history
but the sweep of shifting sands?
what place is left to dare?
it’s neither Cairns nor Perth.
if she hopes to survive,
she must find a home
for a battered mind,
a lonely, aching breast.
she says her heart is happy as it apes
its cultured lessons, turning grey;
drained as she is from their sores,
what is left but to lie,
her hands becoming paws.