As I chop between this letter and ours

*(#########/###%##%###,###%%%%%%## %#((((((#((( **,.

noticing the stone forming beneath my nipple

i lift it out, and roll it between my forefinger and my thumb while I lay on the towel, while I pat myself down

allowing my eyes to swallow the time

its lack of taste
sits too close
there are objects around
that offer some bearing
that look out of place
that say something violent about paths in life

back then, i looked down as the stone found behind my nipple dropped somewhere near the dishwasher. the nerves on me dragging over staffy scratch marks in the floorboards, fraying out from the bottom of my jeans.

Here there’s new company and a long hall, there are stems wrapping up the legs and over my chest, representing an outline. this kind of change is all wet

please wear nothing on our date, to keep all of those fibres away

At dinner, I show you this skin graft with rice paper confidence

voice of each wet stem

first is the chilli

talk hot state your case for internal people

it's like a condom skin and split you can see my grin behind it heheh what if I poke my tongue through

i just found how to sit around each of you

how to swallow time again

if i saw the wrong person on this street

i’d have to spit it back out

.., %*,***//**//////((((((#(((((((#(( *%# ###(#& ,***,

love i made it over the pavement to that street. there’s lights down there that will flatten you for a second or two, when they come down the hill darling, i care about you

at this house supplies only came every three months. flour, salt, tins and preserves, 10kg of butter, lifted into a crock filled with brine, a frozen pizza, orange juice. lines laid across other lines by telegraph, eventually just this one great ping, linear, quiet, a wife imagines

behind the building I sit writing on the little iron seat. the tea tree clicks with insects like it was down the beach, where my family used to gather

around the patio
watching all the mock-fish shared in communion
the hole drilled in the salt shaker
how few doors were opened
the guests that got fed but weren’t ever really met
the dinner going on under the table
another between the bricks
another in the bushes

chirping, humming, off in the sand dune I am

tracing a finger around my navel

the insects and the pussywillow remind me now of your parents and how the land on the coast is so kind and indifferent

wrapped by rockpools, kissed by ducks, hearth and hill, you are fed by those affordances. the spell for our urgent outpour, a gentle admission, play, sex

scale found

smooth wet rock

skin and oil

sunlight strobing

threat of passing strangers

call of a bird

no good name for anything here

for all of this really

us settlers are aliens in role play, while fucking outdoors

making another stage, those promises

how keenly they’re distributed

we stumble out below it

and the violence laddered through


/,******////((##,%####%##(/.#&%(###%%%%%###((#(#(((#(#%# .,*,.

I’ve been enjoying these nights

thank you keyboard but your

coddling just
isn’t good for me

my friends write a lot about notions like care and desire

and I get it
darling care spoiled desire,
with its misleading moral precedence.
i could go on like this

mopping words in my letter,

i could coddle this too.

the spill,

the edit,

insight offers me more intimacy than faculty,

as i listen back to my own feeling many times over,

this is a tape recorder and a fizzy silver can of beer

which sentiments have met their use

which acts will be re-staged only in order to better precede the next

here’s an apple kept only for its redness,
as I chop between this letter and ours