The system robbed my father
Of his soul
And silenced my mother
Of her will

They are two young leaves
Glabrous and magnificent
Spinning atop a torrent.

Unaware of their power,
And stubborn in their fear,
They placed a finger on my lips
And never took it off.

My voice is not sick.
My heart does not lack charge
And my fingers rest beautifully.

My wires are impeccably engineered.
My brain is alight with knowing
And my belly, understanding.

Tell me, what does yours say?
Does it lie to you?

Our voices are not sick
Our words are not misguided.
We simply know you well,
And suffer for it.

We will burn you.

Your belly is full of power
That is not yours
The collective charge of a millennia of silenced people

Your greed is a starving parasite in a
a bloated carcass

Today she is rewarded with a diagnosis for her insight
Tomorrow he is fitted with a muzzle for his tenderness

We will burn you.

For gods' sake,
Life, meet Weird.
Weird is your breath
And Weird your legacy.
Alas, You can't be alive
If You don't let Weird free.

White notions of superiority
Blessed under white lights
Souls sold
Between punched holes
Ring binders brim-full
***** overfills
Scripted words
Meals of rotten platitudes.

Here is my grateful smile
Here is my pleated skirt
Here is my servitude

I can't save you

Don't save me

Your beliefs erode my DNA

I love you but I bleed

I will find God elsewhere

I bet She is waiting for me there.

What right do you have to lie there so beautiful,
So far away?

I am bathed in the shadow of your gaze as I write this,
And trying to follow the map of grief drawn, to meet you.

Transport me, my glimmer, to your dissociative place.
We'll sit there in silence.

I am going to pluck that illuminated corner of the night sky
and graft it to my palm.
I am sorry, precious sky, that we have been so distant
for so long.

I want to touch your base,
I want to touch base.
Now we're gonna circle back
To our circle ****.
Feel the warmth of my regards
Deep in your archive folders.
Savour the tingling of my best wishes,
Between your table of contents.
I want to touch your base,
I want to touch base.

Loosen your

Chains,
Brains,
*****,

Your vowels
And your bowels

She speaks in cherry red
Prunus cerasifera
He whispers falling leaves
Amongst the diving wrens.
Happy tears shed every morning
Before the Lyrebird sire
Starts his lone choir

Ashen pine blue, flame trees
Quiet illumination
Sensual body of Autumn

"I already matter,
I already matter"
What she whispered to me
Low frequency,
And,
Gently removing the zip ties of my youth,
Sang Rocket Man just under her breath
To no-one in particular.

"I already matter"
That slap-in-the-face truth
Words impossible to unpick from my teeth.
But right there,
She just breathed into being
A delectable bite-sized epiphany
For only my ears.

"I already matter"
A song of logic with such obviousness
The gods synchronized their eye-rolls
In response
Yet somehow we ****** up the lyrics
-they're passed down, that's why-
From wars, and hate and Ashmedai.

"I already matter,
I already matter"
She's here again...
And I think it's going to be a long long time
Till touchdown brings me 'round again to find...

Swollen eyes,
These headaches
Tell me to stay present
Do not fear
We're one and the same
The pulse of each vein.
This noise
These sounds
Are not like the others.
Sweet syrup,
And warm embrace
Drown out the buzzers.
This music,
The sky,
Breathe in the filtered light
Just breathe.

I learned in those years
That intensity was a sin
And sensitivity was the mark
Of an emotional wreck.
A girl in touch with
Her wild wild feminity
Is to scorn, to control
And wrap in tissue paper
Gingerly placed in the corner
Of the top drawer.

I am day by day
Unwrapping slowly, thank God.

If I could soar at will,
Less escape, more exploration, until
I found an ocean too wide
Or a glacial peak about to cleave

If I could rise and trace the topography
Like fingertips over worn leather
Inhaling scents of all our lives
And ride in the slipstream of an eagles' feather

If I could,
If I could just

Be weightless within the heart of the stratus
Tip toe over the bristle of a giant spruce
High-five a handsome window washer
Or soak up the light of a meadow chartreuse

Doona, oh doona
stop teasing me you meaty pillow
waiting impatiently in my room-a

I've had a long day
my feet have turned to clay
And I just want to climb inside
your soft womb-a

Whether at my feet on summer nights
Or mornings frosted, dark and wintery
All else is stale, mediocre cloth
You're always the doona for me.

Doona, oh sweet, sweet doona
Hug me under the light of the moon-a
Don't ****** me from afar
Spread-eagled in my room-a.