dawn starts up the sound of a tractor between my legs buckets

(for Anthony) Gently turned the tap; small boy awe and glee. A withered stick man smoking in his bed,

would as I do thought inside faces happening, not peacefully,

on the road to Ballarat the argument thick between us we take a wrong corner

You wore a white Bonds t-shirt to bed last night. A plain, white, no-nonsense Bonds t-shirt and I knew it was over. I heard the death knell. And when you asked me if I

‘not so much extraordinary but merely in touch with the emotional ebbs and flow of the Pilbara ... you’re left with the feeling that it’s the legend that counts, not the real thing.’ – Mark Naglazas in the West Australian

You don’t need to queue at the entrance but then so dark your captions now unreadable since the children left.

choose from chicken or beef these delicious soups are jam-packed with chunky pieces of vegetables and meat offered in a convenient ring-pull can microwave and serve

once upon a time

somebody is flinching by the mobile florist, getting lynched with fatigue and crumbed tobacco