Saturday, October 24, 2009

Billy Brown's ballerina

and i want you to know everything
i want you to hear all my albums
that i have ever articulated
all the subtleties of my wit
i want you to get it
to understand me now
like you are me
like i want you to be
a mirror without the abstract
the source of me without the fragmented ego

and i wanted you to fit this profile
to be memorable in this cute little indie flick that i have directed in my head, a role that we can talk about incessantly at parties when someone mentions 'oh i liked that film'
like Billy Brown's ballerina

i want you
like it's a crime
property is theft and all that
like i want control of your will, your actions, your heart
to fit my fascist little fairy tale
like i have bought into the kiss of happy ever after
like there is something else i care about
like i have spent my days waiting for something else but you
like i have worked out a way to live without your mythology
like i have balance

and i place my faith in the same god everytime
a competition
like i have never surpassed the AFL accounting games i would play in Homeswest bedrooms

but i still want you
to act opposite me
my Rebecca Keating
you will be you
but i am addicted to this god
and the only thing i can articulate myself to... is you
the only thing i can hold... is you
and i hate you hope
you are a drawn out noose
you strangle me slowly
and maybe i like it
but in the end all i want... is to hold your hand and for you to choose... me

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Chimes of Cottesloe

The anxiety for the things unsaid
chimes of this chrome basin
and the echoes in my head

The anxiety for the things not done
negated desire
negative bloom
the sighs of this fallow wasteland
the elephant in our room

I meditated on this previously
and I role played your reply
flow of our river has been jaded
I anticipated
but I will patiently wait
hope for another date
another time to hold your hand

Give me your stage and I will say it
you radiated in that dress
hold out your crowds and I will preach it
my awe of you all, but I won't confess
no I won't confess
like a sinner-man in his Sunday best
next time I will say it
climb to the crest of the world
and I will shout like a mother-fucker
scream like a mother-fucker
ask you without a stutter
will you hold my hand?