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It's the alcohol that makes me white. The magic of intoxication suits my dreaming fine. I want to be civilised. The harder I drink the whiter I get. O how I want to imbibe like a gentleman ... I want God to make me white and rich and fat.
That river is almost embarrassed at the space it occupies — professionally shocked to be spotted despite the camouflage dust it wears. It scrawls on the grey-soil plains. This consecrated vellum is read by cockatoos.
I didn't have much hope. Soon I would be 50. Love was fitful and glorious and painful. There will always be thugs in caves murdering children and crowing. But we are capable of creating wonders beyond our imagination every second of the game.
The sound of the horse races is my father’s music / A soft dream hidden by ambition / take other paths or just stay put / silence(d) / beer and didgeredoo / the time it might take in getting home.
They say after the storm / you should check the tide pools / for fallen stars. From 17 October 2006.
They say after the storm / you should check the tide pools / for fallen stars.