From poetry


+ I.


Maryborough. What would Twain say? I ask. It’s a station with a town attached. Ignition off, you …

The Poet’s Progress

Declan expects Byron Appleby to be a middle-aged, rumpled Englishman wearing worn cords, a hairy tweed jacket and smelling of …

Her Death About

I could tell how she needed you,
though I was never sure about me;
we needed her.
Boyfriend, best friend:…


¬ I.

Now is the tinkle of a child at the curled brow of a clown in a moving circus …


what does it mean to stroll down cobbled roads with processed words to have money then lose it to have …

Hi There, America

If Homo sapiens
has risen to the
level of
our planet’s
future then
is in trouble.
Isn’t it …


She’s a boy in lace
a guy in cotton
a son in silk.
She’s a gentleman in linen
a bloke …


I did a number on the discolored patch of this room that stared me down
And treated it with a …

Is This It

dull rain soaks sun withered
grass rat sniffs candy abandoned

on broken pavement downtown
no one notices the elderly

spellcaster …