the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...

T Revisited: Version 1.1

clichés apart there’s more to her
than meets the eye
for instance she lives for poetry
though she denies it
says she is good at pretending
likes to show what the seeker
wants to see
how then do you explain her arising
silently not metaphorically that’s easy
but as a columnist at a cult poetry site
where she rubs shoulders with twin
constellations Andrew and Star
who caress the soul with beautiful
lyrics and passionate music

she hobnobs with a 75-year old American
poet and collaborates with him to create
close encounters of the second kind
where puckered lips and pointed breasts
are implanted on nubile bodies
that apart it’s the underground Aussie poet
and spokenword artist who moves her

internet is many dots interconnected
you leave your mark and it helps
trace your trail
footsteps on the sands of unreal time
and while it fosters anonymity
it is difficult to remain nameless
must then she crave anonymity
warhol would cringe with
his fifteen minutes of fame

and if you think poetry sums up
her existential angst
you know but a shade
of half the truth the other half is dark
she revels in situational paradigm
and walks like a zombie
searching for the lost city of paradise

everybody needs space to grow
she needs cyberspace to explore
the world she sees around her
and the world she conjures
night after illuminating

(2 January 2004)