One Hundred and Seventy-Two.


Izzy circle


I’ve been thinking about getting into heavy metal.
something about the double-kick bass, the crunch and grind of it,
the voice calling up from subterranean caverns,
the imagery of brimstone and fire, blood and demons
seems appropriate.

I hate watching people make out in bars.

I want to say you slay me.
or apply it to something specific.
like your collarbones.
‘your collarbones slay me’.

the feeling of being cut loose and drifting

Yes, I’ve been thinking about dying.
doesn’t everyone?
I’ve been thinking about how we could die at any second,
and some people see that as a challenge that you can choose to meet head-on,
and some people don’t.

the two pages permanently up on my phone right now are ‘time in Melbourne’ and ‘time in San Jose’.


Sarah circle


the cry cleaves the night in two
bawls into the warm musk bedclothes
ricochets like strip lighting tick-tick-tick-boom
carves the house with ugly sound
rips through the ceiling, spiders along the wall
cuts the dot painting of indeterminate origin
and possible market value into a dizzy-faced pair
the cups rattle in the saucers we never used
like we kept them just to show how hideous this noise could be
chattering incessantly in the white cold air
we dash to the smallest room
peer between the bars of the teak-stained cage
and gaze in despair at the abyss that has opened
in the wrinkled red face of our son



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