Monday, 12 May 2008
Cate Blanchett is incandescing, having a red lipstick moment
She dissembles, is caught out, winces.
Her phone rings twice, and the camera pans to the low table
Some deep hues emerge there which foretell her downfall.
What should she do? There is light on a wall in strange patterns,
I don't like the look of her blouse, too racy, too blue.
Her teeth probably ache. I know she's acting, but does she feel
Culpable for this sad moon, this set of frames
This way we all respond? So we breathe in the lit-up air,
Remember some relative time, some infidelity
Or judgement to be made. The window is white:
In the shed there lingers some forgotten doll
Sitting waist high in a tin tub, tiny tears with drilled in holes
Peeing and crying. I am looking from far away,
At Cate from outer space, I am the lunar shift
Peering at dreams. The sprockets tear
The film flips and flaps, the audience groans
As though Cate has dropped through time -
Damn! I like her lipstick - that kiss-off colour!
Friday, 9 May 2008
The silent waitress who brings your coffee
thinks nothing of your complications
tests and confusions, she only serves
you briefly, cares for you
among the milliseconds of her day
her hands are capable, but sorrowful
her mouth pragmatic but full of truths
should she ever speak to you
the screens would fall
and the fine sharp glass of memory
impale you to the cafe floor.
10 seconds of an animal.
10 seconds of an animal
is shivering, is black cream
upon the the embers
of a hearth
its surface rapt, controlled
the pump beneath
well tracked with coursing blood
its mind remote-
a witch's tail
a witch's heart
ah, violent, ah
its surface suave
skinful of force
they chain it to a circus car
it grinds its teeth
the ringing screech
a wiry thrill on metal bars,
lie down, lie down-
god help me
I see its face
I want its low slung danger
the way it knows no anger
takes its prey
Published Orbis 2006
Sunday, 4 May 2008
I have collected these winged beasts
nine insects jostle in a teacup, their dusts
pollute the surfaces, they are enchained
and disoriented by their entrapment
their small soft bodies dry as spores
are difficult to identify, i like them well
their silver netting, their gaudiness
the way they shivered on the air
just before they aimed and fell
the captivity is a kind of reckoning
their inward fire, the cold precision
with which you placed them
i might crossbreed them
i could do with more-
I toy with one
upon my finger, the tip I drew right down
your face, the one you told me off about
so cauterized- I burned for hours
until I realised you were not serious
you never are.
They crawl on me, their flags bear symbols
warnings, prognostications, their decals
diagrams of lovers in flagrante
that I note down carefully- choose to ignore.
Each purple emperor, camberwell beauty
swallowtail and poplar kitten
all amount to a small collection
their brief pulsation lasts half a second,
when I caught them in the darkness
as your mouth came near to me
should I pin them to black velvet?
do you think I should set them free?
For the inside of a Greetings Card
Bought for the Occasion of "Losing your Friendship"
Last seen in a crowded bar, you seemed one way
and then another. How odd, I thought
as though you were a mirror.
My old friend,
now somehow blind, affectionately I send
you thought-flowers and hope you will receive
this emblem of a comradeship
still sweet,so out of fashion.