izzy

inside this whale’s chest
we can hear each other breathing

giant ribs against our tangled spines
and the swell of the ocean
pressing in against our hollow

this is what it means to be close to someone
exhaling in the dark

*

sarah

i pressed my nose against the glass
left a little round wet smudge
which i regarded with a certain air of pride
the way a dog banished to the yard
wages quiet war against a polished window

*

izzy

miraculously, the rest of the building was unharmed.

the blackened exterior of the Morgans’ apartment
was carved perfectly out of the tenement
a gaping hole between the Richardsons’
and Mr Henekky’s 5-cat condominium

the pavement was sprinkled with glass
brick fragments
and ash

the firefighters were confused
the coroner even more so

when the evidence was pieced together
witness reports taken down
of shaking walls,
quaking floors,
moaning and heavy breathing breaking through the brick

with the burnt bones bagged,
security footage scoured
and melded pelvises thoroughly examined
it was determined that the Morgans
had spontaneously combusted
making love in their queen size posturepedic.
*

sarah

excuse me sorry hi
i don’t mean to complain
it’s just that, as of yesterday
someone seems to have injected concrete
into my sinuses
and actually, now that i think of it,
into my left ear too
and halfway down my neck
and i was just wondering
whether there have been some sort of
bungled council works
i mean, i know that it’s all a bit mad
for you guys, what with the
east-west link kerfuffle going on
and i just thought that perhaps
at some point
some roadworks might have happened
in some inadvertent way
inside my face.
is there a form i can fill in?
a toll free number i can call?
i’m sure that you’re all very busy
it’s just that it’s rather inconvenient
having a headful of concrete
as i’m sure you can imagine.
i did some googling
(i know, i know)
and the general results seem to indicate
that it’s just the common cold
but really, i’m not convinced
what with the government
monitoring our search results
and given mr abbott’s
plummeting approval ratings
i can entirely understand why
you’d rather have this covered up
but i think that with some delicate negotiation
i could probably be consoled
with an out-of-court settlement
quite a large one
actually.
i’ll leave my number
and email address
i don’t have a fax machine
so, apologies for that
i’m sure you’ll be in touch
sincerely,
etc.

*

izzy

holding my head in a bathroom stall
at the British Consulate,
eating the sun
touching faces
our brains made of fairy floss
and lips like battery acid

in the blinding light of Mars rising
our souls blinked
Mars moved
this ain’t the end
unless you say it
croon it

the guttural croak of goodbye
catching on your tongue like hooks
this is a flute stop
this is raw cheeks
and spent palms
this is only Mars rising

*

sarah

See that dude at the bar?
Been there since opening.
Hasn’t moved a muscle.
Hunched like a quarterback.
Prune-juice face dripping into a beer.
Must be a hundred.
Must be a thousand.
Seen his belt buckle?
Shaped like a wolf.
Total pussy magnet.
Musta been fucking since 1843.
I hear he screwed Marilyn Monroe.
Elizabeth Taylor.
Queen Elizabeth II.
Dude’s still got it.
Eyes all squinched up
Pupils sliding languid round the corners.
Takin’ it all in.
See those hands?
Gun-slinger hands.
Horse-rider hands.
Hands to pull out a man’s heart.
Show it to him while he dies.
I heard he was a daredevil.
Jumped off the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Not even a bungee cord to hold him.
Did all of Buster Keaton’s stunts.
Went over the Niagara Falls in a barrel.
See that twitch in his shoulders?
He knows we’re talking.
He can hear trouble.
Smells fear.
Once lived on tree moss and adrenalin.
For three months.
Four years.
Fought in the war.
Which one? All of them.
Hired by the government.
He’s a double agent.
He’s a quadruple agent.
He works for every country under the sun.
Plays them off like a deck of cards.
Hasn’t got a real name.
Lost it in a hand of poker.
He can make himself disappear.
You glance away for a second and he’s gone.
He’s been nursing that beer for hours.
It’s a cover.
A ruse.
He’s on the job.
Probably packing heat.
Probably strapped with dynamite.
Suicide mission.
Going out with a bang.
Saw his woman one last time.
Kissed the kid goodbye.
(Must be thousands of them, the kids.)
Kissed one of the kids goodbye.
Yeah, that’s it, the kids.
Yeah, that’s it.
He’s roaming the world.
Doing the rounds.
Saying goodbye.
Finding every squalling little bastard kid.
Stroking its head.
Winking at its mum.
Then vanishing into the night.
It’s been years.
Tracking down all those snotty little kiddies.
Every woman he ever left.
And tonight, it’s the last one.
One last beer.
One last kid to kiss.
And then he’s out.
Fuck.
What a dude.
What a fucking dude.
Raise your glasses, boys.
Next round’s on me.

*

izzy

map these bones
chipped and brittle
crack the crust and
suck my marrow

clean these fossils
these remains
lay me out to whiten
in the sun, hold me

while I disintegrate
crumble me to dust
let me be the speck
the dust in your eye

*

sarah

God, I wish you weren’t leaving.
You are the oracle of fucking Delphi
And without you, Greece is lost.
You speak, and in the shape of your words,
Light blooms, like orchids in the night.
You carve the world’s nonsense into form,
Push it up against the wall
And shove a finger past its waistband.
You said to me once, through drunken, desperate gasps
And tumbling, secret laughs
That I would be yours one day.
Words like a prophesy.
Darkness made flesh.
You make me believe in love.
You paint the world in carnal colours
And elaborate, connect-the-dots stars.
You dance to the tune of the next train announcements
You pick out the song in the garbage truck roar
You stalk all the sunsets with a huntress’ heart
And the dawn bows down reverent to your gold goddess eyes.

*

izzy

thunderstorms form in the bellies of mountains
wisps of cloud extend their fingers toward
the others, grasping and conjoining
disappearing into each others’ breath

the night breathes out, wet and satisfied
frogs glutted and singing for more
we waited until the cloud engulfed us,
linked hands and jumped

clouds fall upwards together
rolling and clashing as one great body
crackling through sky, running nowhere
until they disintegrate back down into the dirt

*

sarah

I pressed my crumpled brown paper bag face
Into my crumpled brown paper bag sheets
But my tears were a tomato sandwich
And they leaked, squashed and hot and sticky
To stain the bed with fat wet streaks

*

izzy

Mars

space was just an idea
stirring our coffees
you nibbling at muesli
our dog licking my feet

we did all the tests
together
hearts flapping as we ran
on treadmills
trailing electrodes

your spatial relations results
outweighed mine, just
but I beat you on exobiology
and rune translation

I held your hand
as we opened the email
laptops shaking
facing each other

distance can only be measured
in heartbeats
in breaths

you’re behind me all the way
baby
I can’t wait to see
that blue dot receding

there will always be oceans
where we are together

*

sarah

People who make me feel like I’m in a secret club:

1. Volvo drivers.
2. People who wear Dejour jeans.
3. People who use the word ‘dramaturgically.’
4. Boys who wear Claddagh rings.
5. People with nose rings.
6. Runners who look like they’re struggling.
7. Girls with husky voices.
8. Baristas who wink.
9. People who trip over on cracks in the footpath.
10. Librarians.
11. People who make puns.
12. People who don’t understand sport but do understand yelling.
13. People alone in stationery stores.
14. People who snort when they laugh too hard.
15. Pedestrians who have accidentally stopped in an inconvenient location to stare at a wall, or a bird, or the sky.
16. Drivers who have to be beeped to remind them that green means go.
17. People who quietly harmonise during group singalongs.
18. People who cry in happy films.
19. British people cooing in enthusiasm over a cup of tea.
20. Old people staring in confusion at their old hands.
21. Babies staring in confusion at their baby hands.

*

izzy

I emerge from the rainforest sweating,
resplendent and overflowing with new growth
kicking ass and being at one with the foliage

later, in the shower, I marvel at the details
that can throw you back and clot your throat
staring into the pouring ‘posh’ shower head
water spilling over my face
choking me back to a past life,
with me just a gorgeous shell
filled with sex and washing powder

my hand on the burner in our kitchen
it didn’t do anything
all magnets and chrome
no actual fire
no real burn
just electricity and science to cook with

I am burning through the undergrowth
chest bursting
surefooted and free
cicadas screaming into my ears
you will never know how far
I can hike without stopping
or how much I love the smell of decaying leaves
and wet dirt or how I
roll a swag, pitch a tent, boil a billy
remember how to put a fire out as well as start it

I was face to face with a dingo alone at ten
today it was just a goanna
but I still looked at it with wonder
childlike and brave and the best part of me
not immature or squashable
but real raw wonder

feet crunching into earth
today in converse and turquoise tee
wearing earrings in case the Rosellas see
but still that kid in cargos and hiking boots
who never cut her hair or understood makeup
you will never know what I am capable of
where I have mapped this country
where I have yet to go
because you never asked
just slapped the backs of my knees
to see if I would flinch

*

sarah

Howard and Moll, after seventeen years of wedded indifference
Finally took to the courts for a formal divorce
Her, citing decades of thundering snores
That were never quite rhythmic enough to be sweet,
And his half finished-sentences, his mumbling, his sniffing,
His pottering aimlessly while she was in the kitchen,
His interest in rugby, his mistrust of maps,
And his blatant refusal to never, not once, leave the toilet seat down.
For his part, he listed her voice when she nagged
Which was often, especially regarding the lawn,
Her inability to walk in an approximately straight line,
And above all things, he stated,
Her cruel determination to serve wet brussel sprouts
Which she knew he hated above all things on earth.
The magistrate paused for dramatic effect
And stated that under new federal legislation,
All bickering couples were required to undergo scientific evaluation
Microscopic imaging, which would demonstrate the roots of their woes.
Each of them breathed a sigh of relief
For the impending release of the cold, hard facts
The inarguable machine-calculated reasoning
Behind their marital follies in choosing each other.
The next week, they shucked themselves of all but their skin
And stood side by side in papery gowns
Being careful not to touch, for fear of contaminating the data.
Men in masks strapped them in to fearsome scanners
Buzzing and humming and whispering light
And rolled in twin screens, each projecting the results
Of the opposite person.
And they watched.
As cameras flashed over their goose-pimpled flesh
And zoomed exponentially closer on in.
As the pores on Howard’s arms came into magnification
Moll smirked to see their uneven shape
Vomiting out hairs which looked flaky and rough
Thought, he’s just not quite right, even down to his skin.
And Howard, for his part, winced to see, vast and blue,
The varicose veins that Moll kept in her calves
Which pulsated vulgarly, slick and obscene
He breathed his relief that his doubts had been real.
As the couple each settled into their nest of certainty,
They awaited the return of the doctors, to confirm
With charts and paperwork, the success of the test.
But the cameras kept whirring, and zoomed further in
So that their skin rose like river beds, all cracked
And further still, as their cells came into focus
Wobbling and chattering like talkative jelly
And then further, they became little dots
Passing dots between dots without number or name
Moll thought with alarm of indigenous art
And Howard in an flash, understood Mister Seurat.
And still further, relentlessly the cameras pressed on
Through the busy crusading of molecules and chemistry
Until finally, they slowed, and shuddered to a stop
And the whirring machines clunked to silence
And Howard and Moll saw each of their screens
Focussed perfectly on what they remembered from school
As an atom. A huddle of specks indicated a nucleus
And now and then, a tiny spark fluttered by
(An electron, they dragged from the vaults of their learning)
But most of all, what they saw was nothing.
Space, and dark, and quiet, and emptiness
Each had never seen anything quite as empty as that screen
And staring as deep as they could into each other
They realised they were each mostly space.
And all the while, as the scientists unbuckled them
And led them to their clothing
And returned their shoes
And signed them out
And waved them home
They were silent. Hardly breathing. Hardly moving in bodies
Which, though packed to the brim with guts and with gore
Were primarily made up of nothing at all.
Howard unlocked the car
Moll climbed in beside
And they drove without speaking
To the top of a hill
And there, under the twinkling of the ancient old stars
They fucked on the bonnet
With desperate love
To each make the other
A little more whole.

*

izzy

I am standing in the bathroom looking at the bluestone tiles
not looking myself in the eye
not listening to the floating particles of conversation
from my family as they gawk at the wonder
of the mountains and the bush and the sea of trees
that look like they have no end
except that you can see the road from here too.

and there’s a fat guy in gym sweats
with his belly poking out between
his t-shirt and his shorts
he has a whistle
and those gross sweat band things
like tennis stars or wankers

and he’s yelling from the sidelines
cheering me on
knowing I can’t fail
because he believes in me
and his dreams that turned to blubber
burn even harder in my heart than in his
so there is no way that I can fail.

‘NO GUTS, NO GLORY’

comes panting out of his mouth
like the humid clouds at the top of this mountain
and I am sending you a mental high five
for being generally fucking awesome
and then we bump chests
because we are being brave and trying
not to remember that this is
supposedly an impossible thing

I am sitting in the dark
I can see myself in the treetops
swinging my legs
trying to do it slow and sexy
not like a little kid
and you watch me
and we smile like secrets
and light the fireworks in my eyes
even though it’s a total fire ban
because this is how much I fucking love you.

*

sarah

pass me the sugar soap
i’ve still got my scrubbing brush
from the last time
and the time before
i only rented your arms
and while they felt so much like home
i suppose i always knew i couldn’t stay

*

izzy

The way the sun melts into water reminds me of cell membranes. There is surface tension but the rays just pass through it until they are suspended in the abyss, becoming almost crystalline, striking through the surf, cutting bubbles in half. The weight of the ocean is too much for a human body past a certain depth. It presses you in and compacts you until you can’t rise to the surface the same again. The blobfish looks less than a pile of snot with a nose at its natural depth because the pressure holds it together. I wonder what my flesh would look like that far down; Whether my heart or my head would collapse first. Somehow the light shards are loose too, and they spin and sway through the waves like glowing specters. I couldn’t sleep last night because it was so thrilling having you in my bed asleep and right next to me. Streetlights refracting on the shifting surface of the ceiling and crashing down on me in waves. I can’t tell if I’m drowning or flying but your shin’s pressed against my shin, your cheek against my arm so I can breathe.

*

sarah

Hey mister DJ
A request if you’re willing:
Play something loud enough
To cover my breath

It’s been too many cigarettes
I’ve lost my inhaler
I’m rasping like woodwork
I’m coughing like death

I’ve got blood in my ears
Like a timpani drummer
But my heart’s got no rhythm
Keeps losing the beat

Over handsome new faces
And familiar traces
Of a perfume that someone
Once left on my sheets

I know there are neighbours
I know it’s a weeknight
I’ll write them a letter
I’ll bake them a pie

I just need to become it
My bones full of music
My pores spewing static
An electric disguise

Let me dance on a wavelength
Of screaming percussion
Let me march through a bassline
And crash in a heap

Turn it up to eleven
A hundred times over
To blow out my speakers
To send me to sleep

*

izzy

bring your sledgehammer
bring your mallet
bring the cannons

bursts of sunlight with nothing to cling to
dribble over soft surfaces
and soak into the carpet

we’ll need the hammer
the crow bar
the gavel
and the meat tenderiser

I’ll find the jackhammer
the hatchet
explosives

sea swallowing the ceiling whole
purring white noise and sand sweep
that sounds like ‘stay’

we’ll smash this place to pieces
blend our bones
crash faces like waves
and break all these walls

I just
I just
I just
I

*

sarah

I am no prophetess.
Here, with my glasses off,
I can’t see beyond my own face
Let alone the future.

So here, I’ll predict the past.

I see the mountains held under the waves by God
(the infinite teenager, almighty prick)
and pulled out by their roots of their ferny hair
left dripping and sneezing
in the toilet-seat dawn.

I see the fires set to bubbling in the earth
by Gaia, middle-aged and three seats wide,
sitting giggling with a napkin and a ready teaspoon,
to crack the caramel crust
of the vast desert sands.

I see Cerberus straining on his thrice-woven leash
for the billions of pounds of fat, wet meat
that is us all  – three heads
dripping spit and his high dog whine
singing on the wind.

I see Neptune raise his trident too high
and with those three bold fork tines, pierce
the sleepy burnt toast firmament.
Our skin spits out melanin,
to remind us of the stars,

and I match Orion’s belt to the freckles on your arm.

*