First Night

Lithe voic­es glide like spir­its in mist short words spo­ken close. Closed mouths tight lips give way to sen­tences, vines out­stretched ten­drils grasp­ing ri...

On the Bridge

On the land I lived I’d built a bridge and there returned. I stood on planks and logs of wood, ham­mered still with time, and looked to find the world less gree...

machine

what does it taste like to be part of a machine does it taste oily like lubri­cants indus­tri­al and vis­cous or sweet illu­sion give way give way to bit­ter af...

New Moon

In the dark­est night of the sea­son I fell in a hole, boot­ed feet and stick knees on soft earth fresh from run off and I ran off too down tracks par­al­lel in...