Tenure –
lifting the domestic  
work-rate 
for the new shared flat 
on the beach. 
AM:
stacking dishes 
vacuuming
like watching 
rage film-clips or 
Shane MacGowan 
singing about 80s
Newcastle.   
Minimalism in a 
pocketbook says
write where you 
are.




Empire Park.
Boys at 
the tennis wall.
Lean 
              cut bodies 
of family wagons.




Houses like  
[] [] [] or windows 
onto stately voids 
which is how a hill 
becomes The 
Hill.




RAAF jets    
low across the coast.  
A wave launches spits 
corrosive rain on manu-
factured rust as oceans 
appear in words or what’s 
missing of a metal 
plate.




Topography’s a 
matter for the heart.
Salience that waves 
in colony. Back end   
of the Sygna: unseen     
from the lighthouse. 
Coastal collapse and 
road closure. The late 
Royal (as Location 
goes).




Equium Social:
are we mingling 
or “mutually re-
pelling atoms”




Visiting poets  
with paper-bagged 
big bottles 
in the gallery 
(where spills 
are no acci-
dents).




Memory you can tell 
me’s like fifteen with 
an unspeakable fear 
of the ocean and host 
of excuses. Sixteen –
Mum’s your rock and 
ghost-writer. Chancing 
the Bellevue for the 
only atm on Hunter 
Street.




Cast back to 
some indelible 
night from waaay 
earlier: False memory 
cause I couldn’t 
              find it 
on the 
net.