The Valley of the Shadow of Deat… travels through the streets of my… bringing in with it the refugees, the sinners and saints of flotsam. It’s filled with meth heads and ju…

Mobilised from Puckapunyal one su… The walking dead and maimed do not… In sharp lines of saluting slouch… Just march away clean chinned and… No thoughts here of smokes hanging…

When my imagination moves off it seems incredible, astounding, like a church that walks away, a holy place that plays hide-n-see… a blank canvas with a paint resist…

Grendel is throwing chairs around on the deck of the soon to be sink… Nobody really knows how Grendel g… and slipped himself in to replace… Nobody knew he’d be in charge when

The morning brings the cockatoos clicking and clattering on the rai… waiting for the morning feed, eyeing off the company, non-human, just birds. Light yellow crowns

I saw that last picture of you, st… the infamous bunker. It was a blur… that seemed right for the moment,… it seemed now pointless and old, a… You looked over the wreckage broug…

There’s a red tinge to the sky thi… and I can smell the smoke in the a… They say the wall of fire is comin… so we’d better get down to the bea… There’ll be no harvest this year

When I make an inappropriate comm… she would raise her eyebrows, and… at me, as a silent chastisement. Donald J Trump, Scott Morrison a… meet in an obscure coffee shop in…

He wanders around his silent home, uneasy one might say, lonely as a… said one cleverer than he. Music, yes, that’s it, music, music and whiskey. No, no not yet.

Look at you now a desperado in a desperate world huddling under the blanket of delusion. The road you always thought would…

The flower in the whisky bottle beckons me, kindly as a guru, a Buddha, a pink fleshed lover. I open the door behind the whisky…

Envelopes with gaudily printed car… meaningless mass-produced wishes, cheques to fly to the momentary mo… Books instead of love and tight smiles instead of belly…

Pumping water. Motor sounds across the drying river. Rustic images of a cottage with no town water

The poet unafraid is hardly a poet… but dull in understanding of the power and impotence in his… .? ’?

Your silhouette in the doorway is a light shining from within you to inside of me. Your arm raised in greeting is strength to my tired arms.