Monthly Archives: May 2014

One Hundred and Twenty-Eight.

8/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

pressing down on the air above the sheets
a body floating two feet above the bed

the springs still creak as it rolls over
either the ceiling is falling down to meet it
or this body is rising

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Ah help me help me
I’ve climbed so damn high now
And I can’t bear to look down
Grasping my koala hands on the ladder
Wood grain seeping into my fingertips
I am shattered and spread out to dry
These useless thighs are good for nothing but meat
And they are trembling
Can’t catch my breath with a butterfly net
Can’t anchor my actions any more
The dim dying day spits out its embers
And I am clutching this handrail
Like the hand of a lover through a hurricane
Nothing in this world would tempt me higher
Can’t bear the thought of climbing down
Just the thought of the fall is killing me
We’ll have to go through it
We’ll have to go through it

*

One Hundred and Twenty-Seven.

7/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

deafening roar as the water thumps down rock
it looks like the clouds are exploding into this rush
softening the rock pace, pummelling it in the flow
of angel tears or maybe just runoff and rainfall

the clutch of sky staring down at the constant force
of light and sound, of heaven crumbling to its knees
water and gravity connected and kinetic and rumbling
or the drop between your throat and your navel

*

Sarah circle

sarah

These are the tender times, my friends
Turn the lamps down low and dog-ear your picture books
Make a nest in your stomach for the cat to come lie in
And leave the window open for the lovers in the night

*

One Hundred and Twenty-Six.

6/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

The woman who lives above me doesn’t sleep either. I hear her talking to someone at 5 in the morning. She’s on the phone I guess because I can’t hear anyone replying. Just the muffled sound of her speaking, then silence, then the creak of a floorboard, then her speaking again. This woman walks around her bedroom a lot as she speaks. I follow her path with my eyes and the light from breaking dawn flickering across the ceiling.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

I can dance like a science experiment
About how many weird shapes one person can make
In four minutes and fifty-eight seconds

*

One Hundred and Twenty-Five.

5/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

I’ve been looking at photos and videos of animals making unlikely friends for hours now. I keep coming back to the same photo of a polar bear hugging a sled dog like it wants to protect it from the cold, from the leash, from the crack of the whip of hands running through it’s fur. Like it wants to lift the weight of every sled this dog has ever pulled and fling it out into the snow.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

That is where the dogs go
Way out at the edge of town
Where car husks grow in cut glass fields
And the swamps eat boots for tea
That is where the secrets are

*

One Hundred and Twenty-Four.

4/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

I got a fighter jet for my birthday
Tony delivered it to my door personally
slapped his hand in mine with a grin like metal bullets
made me pinky promise not to tell the folks next door

*

Sarah circle

sarah

There are the machines
The lights, the tubing, the metal and the plastic
The tear-streaked family, watchful and breathless
Searching wide-eyed for the wizened old body tangled in lines
Like some great desiccated fish
The shuddering mess of elbows and knees
That was their mother
(Grandma to the silent, staring mop of four-year-old curls
Clutching at her father’s hand)
And there are the strings
Taut and ready between a vast heart of wood
Whose burnished gold reflects the sleepless, lidless blinking
Of the hundred sightless, watchful lights
And a young woman, soft-lipped, sweet-voiced and steady
Lifts her harpist’s hands and plays
And the sound is like sunlight
Like daybreak
Like fingers trailed through a field of dandelions
Like wool-wrapped lovers ice skating across a lake
Like the dust that floats across stained glass windows
Like a string of sweet caresses in the moment before waking
Like the way she pushed their hair from their faces
As they tumbled, dog-tired, into childish sleep
The sound is water
And as they watch the face of the woman who bore them
They know she is stepping into that swiftest of rivers
From whose currents she will not return
And as those perfect lined old eyes, creased as an old sheet
Turn towards the water
They clutch her hand, to walk her through the shallows
So that she may not cast off alone
And as the strings sing their blessing
They kiss their mother’s cheek, the warmest place they ever knew
And watch her breath melt out as her head goes under
And as the music dies away
The silence is as loud as applause

*

One Hundred and Twenty-Three.

3/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

Veet
I’m lying on a gurney in the back of an ambulance
there’s a neck brace around my neck
paramedic sweating bullets, leaning over me like
‘stay with me, stay with me now, don’t you give up on me’
siren blaring, careening around corners and
I feel something cold and metal against my ankle
look down and – oh god, no, please no –
‘not my jeans’ but she plunges those scissors in
gnashing denim, I can feel air against my skin
and then she stops and looks back at me,
understanding dawns on her face
legs exposed, little curls of hair springing out of denim like fresh grass
I look back at her, broken, from behind my lush full beard
tears welling, ‘I shaved yesterday’
DON’T RISK DUDENESS

Hi…We just wanted to let everyone know, we get it – we’re women too.
This idea came from women
these real-life moments made us laugh.
Not everyone appreciated our sense of humor.
We know that women define femininity in different ways.
Veet helps those who choose to stay smooth.
Our intention was never, ever, to offend anyone
Thank you for letting us know how you feel.

DON’T RISK DUDENESS

but haven’t we been here before?
haven’t we looked each other in the eye and settled the score?
define sexy as more than four letters
tell your blossoming daughters that they could be better
that a hairless pussy is always wetter
that we are all in this together
that life couldn’t be any more fucking fantastic
than when all our limbs are made of plastic
and our bodies become temples of shame and disgust
shivering on these pillars of beauty you thrust at us
and honestly, I’m not judging, I too prune and pluck
all I’m saying is that I don’t give a fuck

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Sometimes I think the only thing stopping me from folding right over and melting my face into my thighs and out the other side is my own lack of flexibility
Keep those hamstrings tight – yoga is the enemy.

*

One Hundred and Twenty-Two.

2/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

something is getting ready to grow here
the ducks are landing gracelessly but assured
I can’t hear you Ta-Ku
the roar of the river is too loud

*

Sarah circle

sarah

contract killer // no job too small //
you got ants you got mice you got cockroaches
i got that shit, lady
you got toads you got fleas you got blackberries
scratch you up like a bitch them blackberries
then I am your man, oho yes
not dogs, though, nah, not dogs
what sort of a heartless fucker kills a dog
no cats either, them cats are crafty sonbitches
yeah look i’d say like, maximum, a gerbil
but, like, a really nasty gerbil
like with rabies or summat
not, like, just because you don’t like the colour
i’m pretty good with aeroguard, too
in case you, you know, forget to put it on
i could just spray it around when you go outside
like a bouncer
but for mosquitos
cos aint nobody got time for malaria

*

One Hundred and Twenty-One.

1/5/14

Izzy circle

izzy

my head explodes in a shower of confetti
all over new rug, all out the open window
all over your window box, all over the footpath
mingling with the fallen blossom petals
making a mess of the concrete
staining it bright with this shrapnel
you take my hand and we watch the last of it
drift and twirl slow and soft to the ground

*

Sarah circle

sarah

I wish you could see your own anger
It rockets out of you like heat
Like fire, like lead
It ricochets off the walls
Pierces my chest, punches my belly
Your rage is white hot and awful
And you can’t see it
This hole burnt in my breast
You put it there
As you gritted your teeth
In the glow of the screen
And hunched up your fingers on the keys

*

One Hundred and Twenty.

30/4/14

Izzy circle

izzy

this is free stella and slick beats and the racks are emptying and feet are finding the floor like it’s a new lover everyone looks either like an urban woodsman or an ironic chav or a 90s American teen party movie, faces somewhere on a scale between ‘aww yeah, sick beatz’ and ‘slightly uncomfortable but hoping that someone is watching’, everyone is here to observe each other – this is ticking all the boxes of where to be at 7:44pm on a thursday night – Urban Outfitters has never looked this shiny and new.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Sweep me up spellbound
Lost in the tall branches
Of these skyscrapers
Winding their way to the way up planes
My feet beating a tattoo to the cliffs
That soar above the street-side gutters
Catching the pennies and puddles of the worn down day
Mince pie dreams dapple the bluestone
Falling from the faces of white-collar workers
Taking sips of the second-last coffee of the shift
With their miracle smiles cocked at half mast
Back-seat tram drivers settle their heads on the windowpanes
Drumming their long frayed fingers on their Tupperware tubs
The sun trundles along its running track
Been training since forever and it never gets faster
Feeling all plain-Jane tubby in the ocean-flat mirrors
Glaring down at the marathon runners breaking the tape
The birds warble their half-remembered operas
As time scours their no-mess memories clean
Still, there’s the hint of an aria in the burbling
The exhaust pipe braziers puff out their fierce incense
Which twists like a cat around the feet of the commuters
Snoops into their briefcases
Presses under their wedding rings
And, losing interest, heads out into the clouds
To have a quick chat to the rain

*

One Hundred and Nineteen.

29/4/14

Izzy circle

izzy

Sometimes I wish there was a ‘god hotline’ so I’d have someone to talk to when I’m bored or lonely. I guess those hottie hotlines are kind of the same thing so I pick up the phone and I dial. She answers the phone breathy and sweet and not talking shit. There’s only one reason people call these lines I guess. She tells me her name is Amanda, but she says it slowly, like she’s sucking on it, “Uhhhmaaaahn-da.” That’s probably not her real name. She tells me she is blonde and 5 foot 6 inches and I wonder what she really looks like. I don’t really know what to say, so I tell her I’m just sitting in my room and she says, “me too,” and then she tells me she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and underpants so I tell her I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie. That I didn’t bother to put on a t-shirt or a bra. She sounds mildly surprised that I’m a woman. I guess you can’t always tell from the voice. She says I must be “kinky”. I ask her what her favourite TV program is, and she says Masterchef. I think she picked that because everyone watches it. It’s a safe bet for conversation. It’s spicy, there is a lot of potential for fantasy in the kitchen. I don’t watch Masterchef. I tell her I like watching cop dramas. That this is my guilty pleasure when I cannot sleep. Eventually we run out of chat and we just sit and breathe, not saying anything. Like teenagers. I’m still paying by the minute, so what does it matter if I don’t want to speak? She is probably on the other side of the world or something but she feels close.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Five steps through the door was all it took
Jeans so tight they’d strangle your mother
Boots burned on the soles from a thousand ground down cigarette butts
Backlit like a demon, guitar whammy in his voice
One nod to the bar and there’s a beer in his hand
And fifteen women slide their feet apart
Mrs Friedman, eighty-five, panting in a corner
Sweat rolls saucily down the neck of every man
He flicks a cigarette to his lips, lights it
Breathes the smoke right into the detector
And strides away just as the sprinklers start to pour

*