PRAYER TO NONE

My tenth summer I became a devil:
throwing stones at passing planes,
damming up the chuckling brooks

and better still, hauling
up rocks to wreck the teeth
of the farmer's big red combine.

I made no apologies.
In a town with nothing to do,
this was really something.

I made like a louse through the wheat
stalked by god's one long finger,
laying low as the sun clocked its weathervane.

yellow days spent hefting chalky blocks
into that rich rasping sea, watching

my charges sink hidden beneath.

I remember my face was tight
and serious, full of importance.
my shorts had frayed,

my wet white tee crumpled
a dusty carmine, slapping
against my back like a cape.

god, every part of me itched,
itched all through my labour
but the devil take me if I scratched.

as the breeze brushed the field,
the field whispered
comb my thatches

smooth my head
and each hair
a stalk shall be

I was having none of it.
Nature spoke like a tick
embedded in my scalp.

the summer waned, we were gifted
a floppy-eared rabbit. I lost interest 

in my assignment, forgot to listen out

for the fireball, the scream
of a machine ground down
to utter purposelessness.

Then, that night before school,
the bed was a sackcloth
braided into my wet skin.

my stomach turned
like a rat
on a spit

in the silence, I squeezed
my eyes shut saying, lord,
don't let me succeed

squirming against the light

the silence deafening as after

any rupture or explosion 

NETTLE

On your bare ankles
she paints a landscape
art in miniature
the oils bubbling up
pink grasslands, white
pocks of hillocks
watch how you go now!
you intrude into her mind.
why, wouldn’t you be mad?
she shakes her head
at the sun
she shakes her head
at the stars
she needs no one else to work
beneath her green canvas,
all manner of critters
who are you to say
art does not bite

LETTERS TO MIRANDA, WHO SLEEPS TOO LONG

Daughter, wake up.
you've fallen asleep
in the sea again, can you not
hear the plaintive cries of gulls?
your dreams do not hail ships,
the moon pools
at your feet.

Daughter, get up. I’m sorry
I only charm you to sleep
for your safety, but world has turned,
and you must see the wonders of these times.
the candles have burned
themselves down, but what need
have we of candles? a sea
of glass now lights our vision.
even on this empty isle, speakers,
remote yet so intimate, whisper
in our ears. today, in the space
of an hour, I was cast the potted history
of our author long dead,
let yourself speed
techward child, compute
and learn from this land,
our connection.

Wake up child, you are needed.
I understand nothing of this rabble
but the pursuit of drama.
screens that babble, I cannot brook
the wooden weight of every speech
cracks under its own pride.
the tide has turned on me:
around my neck tighten strands of news
my girl — I think I’ve really got the blues.
see now on distant shores,
heads wizen like soft stone cliffs,
and in each nook and niche
phobias lay eggs like swifts!
perhaps I do not communicate, fail
to conjure the true picture, words
lost in the moan of the storm.
too long on this isle alone,
my fingers grow strong
but how weak my voice!
Your newness to this daughter
May permit you insight
what it is here, to be alive.

LETTERS HOME TO JUPITER

Dear Father,
Just now I took
scissor and razor to my head
scraped off your full beard
sheared off mother’s curls
you'd be proud of the growth.
Free of the bristles, I'm one
smooth dude. Life’s little problems
slip past me now, like bathing in a stream.
And I do hope you don't mind,
I borrowed from Pandora’s box,
a pretty blue eyeshadow
gave myself Mariana Trench eyes,
looped on a crimson lipstick
and concealed each pock and sully.
In essence, I made and gave myself up. My new twin
left this rat-hole, this man-cave, this hovel
and parading into the city, found a chance fuck.
They bound me in black chord, spanked
my soft body in inches of redness
There was no love here mind,
just rudeness.

At last, I am truly free
you might call my freedom
Good, great and joyous
Or gross. Whatever,
I'd tend to agree.