for the days he hacked too much away (or; pinocchio is told its okay to play with knives, because god did too)

…one day pinocchio \asks me\?
where he came from
so I gave him a \\knife\\
\\wood glue\\ and
\\danish oil\\

the priests make \too many; mistakes
but perhaps it is simply
((CRUEL))to talk of  – genisis – \as if it was\
as if god did not
CUT THE SKY out of his eyes
as if light \\WASN’T\\BLOOD!
as if he wasn’t just afraid of the empty…

…so it was that pinocchio begun to
;grow yew trees
;chop and prepare them for the wood glue
;attach them to empty spots
\\for the days\\that pinocchio
had hacked too much away

for the days he hacked too much away (or; pinocchio is told its okay to play with knives, because god did too)

Tuesday second second

it was a Tuesday maybe
she was leaving the country hey
for almost a year, spoke about
a different land, place,
spoke of smoking, how she hated
second hand smoking
i told her she’d get used to it
told her not to worry,
10 months of exposure
would not give her cancer
but hey, maybe I say that more to myself than, anybody else
you talk about nicotine, old lovers who still
live in your chest
in your lungs
between your ribs
not much room in there for else
you look so young, and I look so old
i had a dream where I
let you come back in bed
i have dreams where I let everything slide
except remember there are two
you and you
if you put me on a hill of rolling
wild flowers and grassy hair
i will let you set fire to it
and burn out these edges
and my best friend shall cough everyday
she is in Japan and maybe you won’t, and you won’t, and I won’t but she will get cancer

Tuesday second second


and that night, she grated her face upon a palm tree

cause mama pays special heed to splinters and spines

stumbles on a bus home

gets on for free, takes lots of pictures

imagines she could kill the world over, and over, and over, like turning

soil and replanting

and that night, she lied about everything

she imagines she could lie herself to a different place

stumbles back on pavement, wonders what a car feels like

if it could take her to space.

to ocean. and that night, she knows you are following her

and that night, she screams at traffic lights,

because she knows she’s gonna die

and that night, she just says hurry, hurry, hurry

get it over with, i’m tired of the slow creeping

just fucking split me open to bitumen, bleed me out,

try and love me with your choker hold,

try not to love me at all, try not love making corpses out of me

and that night, she watches boys in the distance

playing football under stage lights

remembers running for her life

being taught

to love, being hated




lollipop lady

a thick arm or two leaned on and out of car door windows

and told her to purr like a kitten, so maybe she taught herself

the lollipop lady, sweet as anything, like ferry to the other side

keep your loose change in your shoes, she purrs like an engine

why lollipop? says short stuff on the kerbside one day, kicking

sour peaches. cause all of them are sweet i suppose, but maybe 

it’s the shape. short stuff picks up another, sour peach, hurls it

at the boy who stole her loose change, knocks him off of bike

down street rolling like her laughter out her belly. she laughs

like a sour old man and purrs for the lollipop lady. for a long time,

though it would get her, sweets, treats and sugar things. it doesn’t.

lollipop lady

pressure gauge journal launch

pressure gauge press

pressure gauge press  is excited to announce that the first issue of pressure gauge, a journal of poetry, poetic prose, and art will be launched online in June 2016. pressure gauge  is seeking submissions for this first edition and submissions should be emailed to

we encourage you to read our journal submission conditions before doing so.

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pressure gauge journal launch


tell me something about war

and how it is necessary and i will split like the skin of boiled tomatoes

the bandage sounds like this:

it depends on your definition of war

tell me something about violence

and how it is necessary

how you held boy head in your hands

first like lover, planting kisses

then twist of neck into spin top

like murder

then like mother, kisses like goodbyes

like planting roses

i think you are all

and so am i

some see it as a tall, gulf of nothing, but we see its thick and sturdy

like neck and torso

they feel like screaming might fill its empty

you and i take out our hands and choke it

it is already full and brimming

and everything must come out

some like to think we are not gardeners

but we know we are gardeners

planting love and horror in the same beds and sorrow at the end

and besides

garden is just another word for battlefield


two days deep end

two days deep end my fingers are stained green
smelt of mint and lime
lover smells of garlic cloves and naked ginger
so I buy that after work
as the rain patters down, I shift my turtle neck
for the ghost mouth
which kisses neck then deep end for two days
ginger ache in mine
maybe I am lonely, I say to bottle and I kiss again
it responds in unkind
but the longer I am alone, the more I catch sight
there was a child
she stands in the corner watching me drink
thinks of mother
the way she made Milo, and watermelon ice tea

two days deep end