Brisbane, Australia

#4321 Nov 14, 2012
Once, a woman made love to me
through the slippery dark.
Her brother was dying,
her sisters were shooting
heroin in the bathroom
as she moved her tongue
like sadness on my skin, and I felt
how all the sweet explosions,
summer, orgasm, a ripe peach in the mouth,
connect unfailingly to the barren fields.

What we have learned
about love in this life
can never be removed from us.
Not one minute pried
from any of the days ó
and yet, there was a worm
which entered the live branch,
lived and ate and tunneled through
the wooden heart,
and with its body wrote
new language
through the lost years.

So there must be another,
more convincing name
for innocence,
the kind the body never lost,
the grace of stumbling
through an open door.

Brisbane, Australia

#4322 Nov 14, 2012
Italians know
how to call a fig
a fig: fica.

Mandolin-shaped fruit,
feminine as seeds,
amber or green
and bearing large leaves
to clothe our nakedness.

I believe it was
not an apple but a fig
Lucifer gave Eve,
knowing she would find
a fellow feeling
in this female fruit

and knowing also
that Adam would
lose himself
in the figís fertile heart
whatever the priceó

Godís wrath, expulsion
angry angels
pointing with swords
to a world of woe.

One bite into
a ripe fig
is worth worlds
and worlds and worlds
beyond the green
of Eden.


Brisbane, Australia

#4323 Nov 14, 2012
How me as a man did not see you, my doppelganger, my fittest, my best,
all fuck and riptide latex, the smile of the clothing, the perfection of your sex,
it rings true within me as it did once within my model, my vortex, twin picked,
within the person who had dealt with it before, within her, the womankind,
true, and yes, the bludgeoning of truth comes in the form, the attraction,
of a pasty little doppelganger, weíre still on that, yes, petite as a ring,
as a bell being rung, as a marksman on the roof, propped up by rifle,
waiting, waiting, this is our page being turned, our book bought,
this is the stamp being made, the button being clicked, fire of gun,
war torn ground waiting for eruption, the flakes of volcanoes, tomatoes,
and weíre wrapped in ideas like the tongue of subterfuge reenacted.

It is all in place, ever since I met you it was falling through vapor, solid,
and now, put into place, put in, pressed in, clicked in, turned on, rubbed,
I can wait around the corner for you, I can wait leisurely, leaned, against wall,
I can put a smile on the back of my head, wear it, wait for the structureís hum,
it is like a garment, one that you wear heavenly, headedly, appropriation,
and there is a wood stove burning, and I want to throw it away, blacken it,
but I am waiting for you, around the brick building, without fire, smoke, rub,
that hasnít crumbled yet, hasnít been broken apart just yet, hasnít found timing,
and itís time to consider yourself a space, a place to go, a place for others,
and the garments will fall apart too, you doppelganger, things will morph right,
wearing the same thing as me, waiting to approach me, right, directionally,
and we will see each other, with purpose and muse, and one of us will perish,
because itís too much for the two of us, and I am smiling, and itís one place for two,
because I have been sitting around messing with my shoes, tying knots, trying.

The ground isnít getting any older, any brighter, any colder, any dying sight,
and there is no rubble waiting to be threaded through hands, spooled like thread,
and maybe the sun will come out and sheds its light on a battleground, on us,
and maybe I wonít see the end of it, like the sound of a sunset song, we duelists,
maybe I too will become all about fading, dimming, growing smaller, bellowing,
and maybe theyíll play the tune like itís a funeral, your fists at a funeral, both
having been bloodied, water been poured over your wounds, me wrapped up,
my body freezing as you go on with your life, covering it up, cleaning yourself,
waiting to move on, now that youíve freed yourself, thereís the answer, you say,
itís not obtainable though it is viewable, you will say to yourself,
and you will say: I absorbed, I didnít destroy, I am keeping with the tune
of so many different peoples throughout so many different times,
and my life is nothing more than an ache, canít see through to it any other way.

Brisbane, Australia

#4324 Nov 14, 2012
These paper trails:
they are and you are
made of paper.

And this is what matters:
life of a pile of recyclables
and how it exists.

How it will stare you
in the face until the until the end and
you take it out to the ending.

Brisbane, Australia

#4325 Nov 14, 2012
Taut, with spiteful rage,
On the periphery of a refulgent end,
This girl,
She is lost in the wind,
And it is I, who too shares,
This shackle,
One of freedom, and yet,
A need for home,
Together, as kites,
We fly,
Into the night sky,
Carried by a storm,
One alike to the beginning of time,
Blacker than the truest absence of color,
Because it is ours,
And there was never a doubt,
Within or without,
That we would hail,
From this storm we would fall,
Unto love, and the shores of bliss,
This, however,
Was a journey into a land of gall,
Would I not see?
What any other could,
Was I just too happy?
In a land of fire and wood.

Brisbane, Australia

#4326 Nov 14, 2012

Dubious sense of unresolved ambivalence

Given to implausible suppositions of fragmentation

That distinguishes itself in well meaning solemnities

Of delicious incompetence that evaporates distance

In its poignant lament of darkness

That shadows words of cruelty, indifference and rage

Oh how unbearable those misadventures of piteous overthrows

That cram into brief utterances more meaning

Than language can hold and force a confrontation

Of unresolvable contradictions hidden in such speech

That are the stilling of time, those words that find expression

In a mystic power that transforms darkness into intense light

Whilst blocking out the harsh unforgiving light of everyday

And causes mutation and change of place in disorienting fashion

In seeking a loyalty of angers by shifts of dramatic register

Views its own meaning unstable and problematic

In defense of its own legitimacy.

Adrian DeVine.


Brisbane, Australia

#4327 Nov 14, 2012
"THE L B D."

She had hung it up from the mantelpiece in her bedroom, so when he entered the room there it was. It was suddenly lovely and he immediately imagined her body flowing into it, flowing from it. Standing close to the dress he brought his fingers to the fabric, touched gently, stroking then, as though it already held her form and substance.

Stepping past thoughts of her that so stirred his body he entered the pattern of the dress. It was a meadow in the north. July, when already the sun had bleached the profusion of grasses: water chestnut and papyrus sedge. He had stepped from the untidy veranda, past the pond, and down the rough track between the fields unmown, uncut, left fallow. As he entered the breaks of woodland between these swathes of grassland, deciduous leaves, dry and brittle from the summer's heat, were strewn on the path, and between the trees clumps of bramble bushes with berries of red and blue, black and purple.

There was no wind. The only sounds an underlay of crickets, his footfall, and the sharp mournful cries of geese on the now distant pond.

He saw her like an apparition standing motionless at the woodlandís boundary; her dress at one with all that surrounded her. When he came close and placed his hand on her shoulder he could smell the sweet dry earth mingling with her body's sweat, a hint of her sex as he placed his cheek against the shower of printed pollen amongst the leaves on her back.

Back in the late afternoon bedroom he heard her move about in the kitchen, and the spell broken, he turned away and went downstairs.

Several days later, as they prepared for bed, she slipped the dress on. As she stood in the lamplight smoothing it against her flanks, adjusting its fall across her breasts, he felt himself faint that such a thing of beauty could be a joy forever ...

and beyond.

Brisbane, Australia

#4328 Nov 14, 2012
I've got me a shiney new Harley,
stretched outófront rolled right downóon the curb.

With a beautiful French girl waiting inside, legs long as sin, sitting against the wide dark cafe window

legs extended 'cross the seat....travelin' commando
hiding her eyes behind big round sunglasses, smoking oily moroccan cigarettes

ówriting about my accent and the the way I talk.

there's a whole lotta crisp, cold money in the saddle bags, waitin' to be spent on the furs she wants;
old books for me and why not??

old books on art,
fuck, I can't even paint!

just sit around not talkingóread about Brughel or somethin',
wishing my over-large, complaisant hands knew to render the face a fifth so well.

a fifth of whisky's is the closest I get,

I get drunk and further away,
out now on that devil of a hog, parked presently out by the shed where I go most nights to sit on musty chairs 'n scratch ink lazily

on pages nobody ever reads..
óbut it feels fuckin
g o o d .

my frenchwoman would like to know what I think of old Proust...


Brisbane, Australia

#4329 Nov 14, 2012
In the darkness with your honey colored skin

That was welted and warm

It surrounded me

I knew how I felt

Quietly I said a prayer under my breathe

Let this be real..... make me alive

Eyes that felt like home just where I belong

Connected to you at last

Your lips taste exquisite

I sketched you several times in my head

You empower me making me forget

I erase all that I know

This blood that runs through me

Leaving me half dead

I need to let the past be anew

Letting you lay so peacefully and still

I ache with wonder what would I do

Fighting my urgency to rush

My fingers slowly find your breasts

Then I travel to your place

Why are there tears are you in sorrow?

This well be so special youíll feel good

Committed to the demon in my mind

I want to cut you and place you inside of mine

Donít have to try and yell

Because nobody will listen

Your skin is delicate and free

I bet that nobody has ever tasted you

I want to float in your throat

Frustrated beyond the words I say

I tried to make you numb......

Perhaps youíre a little to resilient for me

Brisbane, Australia

#4330 Nov 14, 2012



Placing the fist full of cash
on my bruised, wet swollen p ussy
I let it sit there to soak up the wet silk
between my alabaster white thighs

Laying back on the bed of disgust
I place a cigarette in my mouth
to wash away the taste of his cu m
still wet on my lips...
still dripping from my body

For twelve years I've come here
smiling on the outside
dying on the inside
with pieces of me spread over
the sheets of hells' desire

His short, fat, bald body lays next
to me...still with his short chubby c ock
reaching for dreams unfulfilled
with cu m that never stopped needing
to spurt in and out of my shell of a body

Today was my last day of whor eing
the last day I lay in a hotel room
for hours looking at shitty curtains
dumb ass pictures on the walls
and c um soaked spreads and sheets

Looking over and seeing him there
picturing his face as he used my body
as a cu m dumpster
I inhale deeply in the highest state of numb

Memories flood my mind of him feverishly
needing to fu ck and fu ck hard
panting, sweating, biting my nipples until
blood peaked, thrusting into me until
the skin started to swell and bruises formed

Fuc king me for what he never had
for him being fuc ked as a child
for the wife he hated to fu ck
for anger, pain and suffering of his
own secret sins of wanting to
fu ck his step-daughter.....

For the animalistic need
of wanting to know how
it would feel to fuc k himself

I was his confessional
my body used as his penance
to relieve his sins from festering
like a blister
I exploded !!

You see, today my last day
I pierced his heart with the same
knife he use to outline my breasts
the one he held to my neck to get off
the one used to cut out my soul

I'm laying here
enjoying his cigarette
The same one he used to smoke after
the fu ck........
the one he use to put out on me

Now, watching as his heart fights against
the impale of the knife
blood spurting all over the cheap
sheets and the open wallet with his
step-daughters picture...so he could
secretly fuc k her by fuc king me
gives me great satisfaction

I don't smoke but this tastes
so damn good today
the taste of his cu m fades from my mouth
when I placed my finger
into his blood and placed it
into my mouth....

His death tastes so good on my lips

Finishing the cigarette
I stand over his pathetic body
putting it out, inside the evil mouth
that will never again call me whor e
inside the mouth that will never
say his step-daughters name

Taking c um soaked cash
I place it over the picture
in his wallet
get dressed and look outside
over the city.....

Funny how today......this last day

I see a double rainbow.


Brisbane, Australia

#4331 Nov 15, 2012
I've never been so fixated
on the the scent of another

As I have found myself with you,
my gorgeous lover

Your body is so soft,
inviting, and warm

Evoking sensual activities
I yearn to perform:

Licking you softly
pumping you hard
tongues intertwine
as your body gets scarred
my heart beats fast
while my breathing is sporadic
embracing you tightly
rarely ever so ecstatic
the sweat pours
along with moans of delight
suck me off
I'll put up no fight
switch to vigorous thrusts
entangled, sublime
fuc k me so good
it should be a crime
anything you do
I'm sure to enjoy
so never doubt yourself,
beautiful, never coy
my fingers are eager
set to explore
say the right words
and you'll be my whor e

Oh sweet baby, you will be missed

I'm grateful for those lips
that I've kissed

I lust over you to the extremes

And when you are gone,
you'll remain in my dreams <3

Brisbane, Australia

#4332 Nov 15, 2012

I have never known passion
Until it was your hand
Rubbing between
My increasingly wet legs
I never wanted to take anyone
The way by body aches to take you
Or better yet,
Have you take me
You focus so much
on my pleasure
Never being greedy
You get off on my moans
And baby......
I just can't handle
the overwhelming Ecstasy
I find when your lips meet mine
Because all I can think about
Is my love for you
And how your the only person
I've truly made love with
And each moment
we're together
in our hot passion
I find myself
begging for you
Inside and Out
My Heart Loves You
My Soul Needs You
But My Body
It Wants You.

Brisbane, Australia

#4333 Nov 15, 2012
Once or so will do

The word cuts short

But the feelings lie true

Like a shifting twig against the skin

Youíll remember

With a fresh, visual sense of thin

Thin doesnít quite fit

Unless you scream yourself in

Or score the hollow pit

But I meant to say goodbye

Even though I seethe

An actual bye

The rage is uncanny

I fall apart from truth

I canít rely inside itís insanity

Brisbane, Australia

#4334 Nov 15, 2012
I wake in a dream,
in a haze of the sea;
cascaded by waves,
every time my heart beats.

Every crest is a vessel,
of love or truth or cries,
every crash its own message,
spilling life behind my eyes.

A harp's melody weeps,
singing sweetly to my mind,
and I find myself asleep,
as its beauty intertwines.

I'm left with this vision,
as I visit the light,
and I pass into nothing,
or to something divine.

Brisbane, Australia

#4335 Nov 15, 2012
Disconnected linguistics
leave broken fragility,
tongues speaking with such trite truth.

Thoughts turned to musing,
perception detecting that creeping chill
sliding as ivy from toes
to engrossed mind constricted,
comprehension continuously catching
the cold of ancient rites,
a reoccurrance of yesterdays',
in it such melodic disorder.

With sweet venom she sang my way,
understanding aural shortcomings
allots no egress off racing choruses
coordinated to keep pace on her tongue,
lacing time so delicately, a feat
of only passionate disdain.....

she left life with vicious viscosity
to buckling knees forcing haggard steps,
mind abstaining from physical obfuscation,
knowing contact lends focus to
the surrounding mists, draining away

these rains you called, in echoes
and cries once denied
and allowed to resound
within the dark halls of your eyes,
until tomorrow fell under
yesterday's reign
and you see the essence
of the escaping water,
logging time with tide marks
as it's encircling columns
we've yet deemed pedestals.

In your service
you are served by purpose,
as well as the audition of caution
refined to the request of presence
in those empty commons
you still hold.

And with such sweet venom
you call, leading through corridors,
the only ceiling marked
by the eyes of those predating sorrow,
yet unwilling to be its end,

or allow a Freudian slip
in which we'd reveal
a true identity,
yet allowing us to grasp
that it is only the light
which will release us
of that shadow cast overhead.

In this maze I am flanked
by hedges of stone,
a mixture of
one part water
to every habit
allowed to cement unyielding.

Reformative shifts scaling
to emerge a new horizon.
You echo inward, or up,
this song claiming either path
directs towards her.

Catching firefly notes
providing burning passion
in an unaccustomed embrace,
all requeim and maladroit
in flames we let engulf.

In the center,
colored neither by experience
nor glass,
our melting embrace had yet the time
to trade themselves,
though such idyll frivolity
after skirting two terrains of lucidity
to end at this reflective core,
our masks sufficed 'til parting's light
when falling apart
proved a simple concept,

conceding to the allure
of situational gravity,
given my path,
a constant upwards crawl,
less chosen,
providing more provisional tears
and finding conceding tears

For now though
we'll sit beneath this eldar tree,
material dissociation,
left to the wish
of a lover's kiss
taking hold in the leaves of fall,
releasing the sea of change.

And as waves pervade
she wraps her palm 'round mine,
and in the dust left between
barefoot impressions
and innocence's evidence
we leave a note addressed
to any of us to return.


Brisbane, Australia

#4336 Nov 15, 2012
Tarred minus the feathers
burning layers of flesh
like carnivores of my fuc king soul
you feed on me

Blindfolded so to not see what has
been seen in clouded eyes for years
as acid tears score my lids from

Slide your black tongue in deep
attempt to choke my truth away
by gripping my throat
hands painted white on my sacred voice
bittersweet taste left behind
your internal bile gagging me

Bind these breasts in attempts to sear
my sexuality from me
trying to inflict your own judgment
a w hore binding a virgin
yet you...you still tie the first knot

Holding me down
pushing me to my knees
leaving me to beg for scraps
leaves me angry
leaves me feeling violated
feeling leaves me


A black hearted whor e
with a virgins smile

I'm ready to even the score...

Brisbane, Australia

#4337 Nov 16, 2012
Shit man, how are you going to get out of
this one?
I guess you are going to have to tell the truth.
But some people do not want the truth
some cannot give the truth to certain loved ones,
others believe that the truth is what must be spoken in every word.

But its like walking back down the mouth of the cave,
to the prisoners still shackled, watching shadows, and trying to explain the sun and the trees.

I would have better luck
trying to

fu ck this wall

than trying to get you to
understand something
which seems so obvious
but you.

Maybe we are wrong,
maybe you are an enlightened one,
come to save our poor wretched souls.
But that seems highly unlikely dear,
for you are far too selfish,
and shallow,
and oblivious to reason and accountability.

A line has been crossed,
that which has been done cannot be undone.
But are you so fuc king arrogant
that you think you
are not worthy of forgiveness?

Do you think
your crime is
so bad you are beyond redemption?

You think you have leverage, but your fulcrum is weak and I am persistent and voracious.

The ruiner,
your precious
little nickname for me,
carries more significance
than the
of your

sweet honeycunt, darling.

You never should have had that post deleted that stupid fuc king but accurate posting.

I have known what a vile creature you are since the moment I laid eyes on it and I have carried that knowledge with me.

You forget how intuitive and analytical I am.

You forget how well I read your every glance and subtle body gesture. You forgot how much smarter I am than you.

Your inconsistencies make sense now,
now that I have accepted you as a liar.
Your patterns are predictable,
which makes your bullshit
so much
to tolerate.

My sweet little liar.

I love you the most, baby.

Brisbane, Australia

#4338 Nov 16, 2012
Thereís this hole in me
Itís infinite
I am infinity
And this bed is a web
And I am stuck in its sticky sheets
That are weaving in and out of the crevices of my body

And my ceiling fan is growing legs
And eight beady, focused eyes
That are hovering over me with malicious intent

And my floor is twenty stories below me
Filled with the echoes of lost dust bunnies
Who canít save me from the beast

This hole is still gaping
And itís hungry; ravenous
I am the beast
And I canít save me from myself

Brisbane, Australia

#4339 Nov 16, 2012
I kiss your lips and bite your neck,
you beg for more and with just a peck
I kiss your nose,
all scrunched and red.

I'll take you to my bed,
I'll show you a fun time,
with moans and squeals you beg for more.

I tell you baby there's more in store.
Spread your legs I rub so rough,
you say you want it well I say tough.

All wet and hot,
you grab my arm,
I side my fingers inside you now,
you scream wow,
and that's how I please and pleasure.
You say thats enough,
and I tell you "baby not so rough".

I climb on top and slip it in,
you grind your teeth and moan so loud.
We roll over I take it from here.....

We awake to a noise,
and you say I'm an amazing toy-boy,
I kiss your lips and hold you tight
and mention baby that you were tight.

I love you dear, but I have to go,
you cry and hug me
and say you'll always love me.

Lots of fun, but I knew it
was never going to last.......

Brisbane, Australia

#4340 Nov 16, 2012
This strange egg you've incubated
has sprouted skinny chicken legs.

It follows you around clucking at
every throaty word you nasty-utter.

Pointing and pecking at your guilt
borne by some years ago sin which
all others hatch from and you keep feeding,
Remorseful grains of misdeed shell grit
to harden its anxious green shell.

With no law outside itself the taint faint
heartbeat of your reproof I hear beating
like fear's unglued false eyelashes

You soft swaddle it with empty gestures.
It gestates in every grimace of piety.

I watch it govern your vocation of drab
and undramatic mastery of feathered illusion.

I want to tear shreds in your black satin cape,
To avalanche your fears into frosty exile.
Burn them screaming in the blinding white of
anemic unconscious,
the blacking out.

Hang a trophy kill of your winged demon
taxidermied with glass eyes above my bed.

My compass needle has lost your polarity
there's just a crude representation of pain

I will plant this seed you gave me, in Lethe;
The River of Forgetfulness on its grey shore.

A watery landscape without vanishing point.
Where a white heron will weep tears of sorrow,
like a human to feed hope's tender shoots.

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