hey draft

hey
its not even fucking January
but i smashed out
a million words already
planted them like little trees
in the ferocious dirt
like acacia acumulata
seedlings, hosts for
the sandalwood
deep and little more
than a bootlength apart
in the thick wet strings of mounds
or the depth of scalps
traversing paddock contours
green sticker swathe struttin
walkin on bones
but betting each other
on rhythmic mist
crazy fuck bows
and cocaine double rainbows
not uncommon triple bows
and in moonlit circles
we roll the barest of joints
cigarettes in the last order
for the actual
this is alpha actual
we have lost contact...

carry on
over

occupy
the entire sky
the swirl of new stars
and stupid clouds
and its not the first time
not the first time
i remembered you
your wet flesh on mine
as the rain spelt our names
on rooves, your voice
bouncing across
this impossible suburb
the time we stole
the Christmas carol
banner with our only
anarchist friend
on the way back from
the bottle shop
with the second carton
this time
not emu fucking export
and i thought
thats what you drank
he said
i don’t drink export
never have but

its wet
its fizzy

and full fucking strength
and we discuss pedantica

the new school getting franticer
and franticer...

metaphrastic tendencies - DRAFTING

metaphrastic tendencies
just woken up in a broken country 
no new hope for those 
without the funding
without the freedom
the paper nation 
fearing a twisted invasion 
locked up at the gatepost
those on busted boats are shunted

and pardon my metaphrastic tendencies
I'm dragging my knuckles 
on the concrete trees
the neon beer-stains
the lime-flavoured holdens
the fuck off we're full mentality 
- the spasticity 
of these cites
these rural cuntscapes 
under bonnets 
seeking solace in the suspension
the detention of children 
is barely an offence to them

scuse my metaphrastic tendencies
according to the idiotic 
mediocracy, the bent 
and busted idolatry 
of cheap authentic
chinese things

and digital
residuals

we eat pills 
and pills 
and pills 
and flourescent
corporate vegetables
and special special beers 
that taste like beer 
that look like beer 
but scanty chicks 
in shiny skin
deliver these

in packs
amusingly

Performance poets announced for Fremantle Poets 3 - FREMANTLE PRESS

8th July 2011 - Fremantle Press Poetry Publisher Georgia Richter announced the writers selected for Fremantle Poets 3: Performance Poets today.

Eleven Western Australian performance poets have been chosen for the collection which will be published in Fremantle Poetry Month in July 2012. They are: Allan Boyd (aka the antipoet), Jeremy Balius, Liana Joy Christensen, Gabrielle Everall, Amber Fresh, Afeif Ismail, Janet Jackson, Sam Knee (aka Byron Bard), Dosh Luckwell, Kaitlyn Plyley and John Charles Ryan.

Richter said the poets selected showed the range of voices and styles in Western Australia.

“These poets give a sense of the diverse talent, variety and vigour of our performance poetry scene,” said Richter.

Guest editor and performance poet Scott-Patrick Mitchell said he believed Fremantle Poets 3 was something West Australians would be intrigued by.

Article here:  http://www.fremantlepress.com.au/news/229

over city

these brittle
endless
tree-bent streets
rubber to go
on lygon, on brunswick
are overloaded nozzles
bleed basic enamel ink
neon lambs to pita
to spray gutters
in suspicion red,
a white-lined black
and pine mulch
in stencil inversion
our tram evasion
speaks to
bitumen
whispers
at 3am
we
drift
in
merlots

two new pieces - me and maitland - needs edit

Land cries out in pain shedding tears of blood for the young and old slain

Bones litter the ground like leaves

Channelling each others panic we are,

Wrecked on sweet jesus rhymes, pages on pages

Undone like shoes we stroll in jealous packs

Sounds of gunshots and screams embedded in the earth

Moans of the dying live on in the wind through the trees

she’s telling stories through the trunk

seven sisters bleeding bark

 train station crime

These you don’t hear, these you don’t feel

For they were not taught you in books and school

These wasted tales, unburnt here in this avenue

Those bitumen classics, knees scabbed up

All in lines and lines

Passed on down from mouth to mouth

Old to young

From our land to our soul

We know they are true

Our spinal journeys told in comas

This cellular memory failure

For we are one with the land

We feel what it feels

And remember what it remembers

Twitching muscle jumps spasmodically, rhythmically

Like a finger plucking a double bass

Yr nails in that space again

Where the sky enters my body

Pulling my head back, i’m arching

You can’t control your life

Well to a degree you can

But a lot depends on luck, chance, fate, the will of the gods

In the floodlit sun, goddess

We soak in each other’s skin

Each naked twist n turn thick and turgid

Tall, languid long-limbed

Slips into the room

Graceful arm raises, hand lifts

One long slender finger sensually unfurls

And points

Inside you now its clear

Yr lips at my neck

I’m back in yesterday

I’m at the brink here

I’m brinking brinking

Where do we stand with each other

What do we expect

What do we want

What are we prepared to give

Rhythm up-tempo and silky

Husky sensual sexual rasp keeps the atmosphere alive

Music stroking the vibes

Like a lover caressing your arm

Thigh...

You won’t let me in

this is to intense you say

Opening the door

My fingers slide in

Suddenly it slams

Locking me out

All yr skills spent on me

Wanting me to be in that place

That afternoon moanspace

As if we ever needed anybody else

Nails scrape FLESH

SENDING SHIVERS UP AND DoWN MY SPINE

TONGUE FLICKs OUT TASTING SALTY SWEAT

HARD SoFT BODIES ENTWINE

TRYING, WANTING, BECOMING

ONE

And now I’m not the only thing in this room

In this dark light, under yr expression

It rains

I STAND ALONE

NURSING MY PAIN

CONFUSED