Airport Airport

Airport, airport, airport.

They've got everything I need at the airport.

Coffee bar, sushi bar, cocktail bar, rent a car.

A place where time means everything and time means nothing in it's white flourescent arctic summer twenty four houredness.

Arrivals and departures, births and deaths, airport tears are practise for real life.

I feel secure at the airport. A reassuring adult voice tells me to guard the threat that is my luggage.

There is an information desk at the airport, for when I feel perplexed. At San Francisco International I ask the sage behind the desk,"do I lose faith in myself when I lose faith in love and art, or is it the other way 'round?" He hands me a map for the Bay Area Rail Transit system. I accept it gratefully. In these existential matters one guide is as good as any other.

I catch the train, which I notice can be driven from either end, and alight at the pallendromic Civic station. My question has been answered.

Airport, airport.

Don't forget, getting there is half the fun. When I land in Sydney, in fourteen hours, I'll have had half the fun I'm going to have. 

Airport, airport, airport. 

They have everything I need at the airport.

Coffee bar, sushi bar, cocktail bar, rent a car.

Some day everywhere will be like the airport.

In the future the whole world will be like an airport.






Parkstreet

All Watched Over By Machines Of Loving Grace, Richard Brautigan

Saxophone, A Definition #1

Saxophone, a complex, ornate brass sword used for the sole purpose of slaying demons.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

Worlds Within Oysters

From a photograph by Kris Reichl.

Energy in, energy out.

Love in, love out.

The universe is an infinite oyster colony, a bivalve reality, no conscious thought, just energy in, energy out, love in, love out.

Pearl planets are rare.

We share the sea but live in our own shells, pretending to think. We are nothing but energy in, energy out, love in, love out. Will I create a pearl before I am opened and eaten?

Am I a man dreaming I'm an oyster, or am I an oyster dreaming I'm a man?

Energy in, energy out. 

Love in, love out.



Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

Tramps Like Us

Go, traveller.

Here's to all the dharma bums, the makers of music, the dreamers of dreams, those who live on love and air, the joyously lost, the gloriously adrift, the seekers, the circus joiners, the exiled, the wanderers, the stumblers, the free, a green tea toast to you all.

May you all find a place to heal your loneliness, a person to call home, a vocation that finds you. 

May you never lose faith in redemption through travel, may your restlessness lead to peace.

Go, traveller.




Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

Riddichio Lettuce

Rhythmically frightening,
Punch drunk lightning,
Subtlety, subtly, subtlety.

The tenor man's shoulders,
A blue, blues soldier,
Broadly broadly broadly.

Senses notated,
An intricate salad.
Riddichio lettuce.





Parkstreet

Pointy Bits

Close your umbrella,
It's just a sunshower.
Let the blessed rain fall on your blessed head.

The umbrella
Lowers your horizon,
You can't see the rainbow.

I can't see your eyes.

And when you wave those pointy bits at the edges near my face it freaks me out.




Parkstreet

Blue Notes

While I was out playing blue notes to pay our rent,
She was out giving me reason 

To play them. 

I saw her 
On the corner
Of Flattened Fifth and Lex.
She'd told me Lex was her clarinet teacher, 

But there wasn't room

For a cane reed

Between

Their 

Lips.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

Hold The Feelings, Thanks

What's muesli for?

Why are cats?

What do reality shows about women who are married to famous men do?

How do conversations about shoes justify themselves?

What has carrot got to do with cake? What has cake got to do with carrot?

Who is that singer, the one that sang that song?

Yes, more bacon please, and a conversation with no feelings in it, thanks.

Thank you.



Parkstreet

Drum, Song Lyrics

Drum (song lyrics)


Your heart
Beats me like a drum, no
And your eyes
They burn me like the sun.
Your mouth
Shoots me like a gun.
My love,
We've only just begun.

I'm going to ride it like a wave,
And sail it like a storm.
Gonna' ride you like a wave,
Sail you like a storm.

Your touch
Breaks me like a string,
And your arms,
They bind me like a ring.
Your kiss
Thaws me like the Spring.
My love,
You are my little wing.

I'm going to ride it like a wave,
And sail it like a storm.
Gonna' ride you like a wave,
Sail you like a storm.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Day Is Done

Day is done.
Pull the orange blind,
Pull the black curtain.

Day is done.
Shut the candle,
Blow out the door.

Day is done.
Squeeze out the last of the toothpaste,
Spit out the last of the feelings.

Day is done.
Shed clothes,
Shed skin.

Day is done.
Bed alone,
Bed alone.

Day is done.
Pull the black curtain,
Day is done.






Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

He Wrote This Poem For Her

He wrote this poem for her, 
Wrote it carefully,
In his best handwriting,
On a clean sheet of paper.

Folded the paper neatly,
Slotted this poem he wrote for her into the back of his passport.

And left.






Parkstreet

Passing

Denim shorts clinging, pony tail swinging, firm thighed stride of youth and purpose, pert breasted optimism, new, unbroken, passing me by leaving the scent of memory, lost opportunity, the one that got away, denim shorts clinging, pony tail swinging.





Parkstreet

Bar Siren

Long of leg
And firm of bottom.
Smart one liners?
You bet she's got 'em.

Straight of back
And pert of breast.
She'll spritz you spirits,
With a zest.

Tight of jeans
And tight of top.
She'll smile at you,
Until you stop,
Tipping.





Parkstreet

I Am Lost In The Waving Purple

Her eyes
Are not the colour of lavender,
But they are.


Up close
They are distinct, faceted flowers,
But they aren't.


Her eyes.
I am lost in the waving purple.
Lavender.





Parkstreet

Sherlock Holmes Himself

The detectives
In old novels
Poke through ashes,
Find a clue, 
That leads
To understanding.

Sherlock Holmes
Himself
Could search our hearth,
The ashes,
What might have been,
And find nothing.





Parkstreet

I'd Walk A Mile For A Camel

I'd walk
A mile for a Camel.
Another ten miles
To smoke it,
In bed
Beside you.

I'd blow the smoke
Through the eye
Of a needle,
To prove to you
I was
In heaven.





Parkstreet

Seven League Boots

It may not look like it,
But this old, black, denim jacket is
A pair of 

Seven

League

Boots.

It belonged to her.
When I wear it I can

Step

Over


Anything.





Parkstreet

Newtown

He lay flowers,
Despite his loss,
On the lawn
Of the killer's house.

He spat,
As he walked away.





Parkstreet

Don't Bother Fixing It

The intercom being broken
In my apartment
Is like a medium
Losing her talent.

There is nobody there
Anyway.





Parkstreet

Seymour And Me

The little girl on the plane
Who turned her doll’s head around
To look at me

The last words, scrawled in pencil on a hotel room blotter, of the J. D. Salinger character Seymour Glass, before he committed suicide. His search for the childlike state of connection between mind and universe a failure, in him, in his innocent romantic love, in his imagination. 

I ponder this poem on days like today. I wonder if I will leave a poem in a hotel room one day, when the state of being I desire eludes me one too many times?

One more empty kiss
Autumn falling from her eyes
I feel blind to her





Parkstreet

Air Conditioner Fondly

It's been the hottest day of the year.
The couples,
Cool enough to hold hands now, 
Who came here
To let the bay breeze
Calm tempers,
Make peace, 
Will be together next Christmas,
Recall that night,
Last year,
By the bay,
After the hottest day of the year. 

In the suburbs it is still hot.
Too hot to hold hands. 
It's cool, 
In front of the air conditioner,
But no one
Recalls an air conditioner
Fondly.





Parkstreet

Ko-fi