Heart.

I'm going to close
for a while.

Draw the blinds,
switch off the lights,
turn the sign around
CLOSED.

The windows
will slowly grow
dusty and
people will gradually
pay little attention
to the run down
facade which
sits quietly
on a little corner
of a tiny street.

You might see
a soft light
burning
a secret glow
at night
but
that's just me
hidden out
back.

Taking stock
and working
out whether
or not
it's worth
opening
again.

Jones & Ginger.

Jones
was a mute
and a drummer
in a rock band.

Jones could
drum
a berserker
beat a viking
rhythm that
mo'fo got
mojo they'd say
as the spray
of sweat hit
the front row
and the whole
damn band
turned to face him
with the crowd
rocking the
best seats in the house
to watch that bastard
burn.

Boom
buppa
boom
ba!

He was
pretty popular
with the ladies
though
mostly
they didn't know
he was mute
so they'd talk at
him as he sat
at the bar
smoking
and they'd
be thinking
god, he's so
(annoying, why won't he talk to me?
he thinks he's so...)
hot.

Sure he took some
home he was Jones
he was a drummer
he couldn't scream
out at them but
he could
release them
without a single word
just timing man
just
timing
and rhythm.

Afterwards he'd
go back to his drums
boom
ba
ba boom
boom ba
and
those girls would
see him later
in the light of day
and the special
he gave them
had gone
replaced by -
I wonder what
the Hell
I ever saw
in him.

Anyway that
was few years back
now, before
he met
Ginger.

The first
thing Ginger ever
said to Jones
when she found out
he was a mute
was
good, I hate
having to tell
people to
shut up
which made him smile
which made her smile
back
she liked that
he laughed with her
and made her purr
and he liked that she
was disguising
a vulnerability
and sensitivity
and a skull tattoo
on her
inner thigh.

Man,
it was a real
rock n' roll
wedding
let me tell ya
I can remember
it so clearly
there was tartan
and gingham
and ear rings and skin
tight jeans and mohawks
and converse and gin
the kiss the bride was
a dirty pash
the priest was
dressed as Johnny Cash
and everyone there
enjoyed
a dance with the
bride
or groom
or both
I mean
hey baby
c'mon
we're all friends here
you know it
high five
Hell yeah
woo
alright.

I remember
we all stood on the
steps
of the old church
and waved goodbye to
that '53 Cadillac
black of course
and they never waved
back
just stared
at each other as they
drove away couldn't
keep their hands
off each other and
I remember thinkin'
that's real
those two
they got it bad
they got it good
and maybe
that's why the
Big Guy
upstairs let them
turn
the
corner
and drive some
before the
boom
crash and
bang
so that
all of us
on the stairs
didn't have to see
what really happened
we got to
watch
our version
of
The End
and keep the
image of a
true romance
sunset
that those two
had left
behind.

Wish.

I thought

when I was

young

I thought,

I'm going to be a star.

There I was

on the banks

of the Yarra River

a family barbeque

a few families anyway

tandem bikes

and plastic cups

filled with cola

and after lunch

I started shouting

at the other kids

to organise themselves

into a cast

so that I could direct

the afternoon's entertainment

some sort of panto,

impro

who knows.

I was a famous director

ten years old

flustered at the blonde

haired son of someone 

or other

who was more interested in 

the cricket bat

and wasn't paying attention

to the script.

God Damn!

I cried

forget about the bloody

bat

I need you to show

some emotion!

And

Why are you all so STUPID?

And my sigh 

was world weary

and 

held the frustrations

of a veteran Hollywood

Director

and god,

the empathy

and god

the path which 

lay before me...

That night

I lay in bed and 

let the dictionary

teach me a new word

which the blonde's

father had muttered at me

under his breath;

obnoxious.

I came to know the word well.

Time walked

slowly by.

I was going to be a star

on stage

with a hand 

bleeding from a wound

of love

suffered the night before the show

plasmatic branches

clawing down my arms

and over the guitar

and sweat and roll

and jump

yell here

forget about tone

who needs fucking tone

when 

you 

have GUT

the music had gut

but we didn't

we had the same 

as you

or him

or her

just a life

just an ordinary life

with bills

and broken hearts

and moving house

and I never spoke to him/her/them

again

I wonder how they are.

I was going to be a star.

I didn't think that

but I did

it's hard to explain

it wasn't so much a star

so much

as I just felt

so FULL

of (shit, you say, haha

haha)

so full of something

that fucking needed to be released 

and it wasn't work

and it wasn't fucking

and it wasn't running

it was something that needed

to be made

and it ate me up

ate me all up

and licked the bowl until

everything passed me by

and everyone else rode the wave

and left me straddled and cold

as the sun sank

and the sharks came out to feed

their hunger

my blind ambition

the words right there

hope which hindered my sight

a star

a star

I was 

a fucking star

guess what Jack

you'll never fucking

believe it

it's me

Mathew

and ha

fucking ha

I became a fucking star

except

it's not what I thought

you know

I didn't mean it like that

it's cold Jack

bloody cold

and I'm

billions

of light years

from anywhere

alone 

and blinking

in the dark

vicious

night.

Shit

I'm

a

star.

One little voice

burned into

humility

a wee

struggle

invisible

amongst

a billion

billion billion

other stars.

A tiny

tear

fallen

into a river.

A single

grain

of

dream

upon a 

desert

built of wishes.

A nobody

just like you.

I am a star.

Time Travel and other uses for Dark Matter.

It is a well known fact in the world of Physics, that Heavy Objects have a tendency to "bend" Space-Time. Space-Time is this weird abstract concept that make scientists talk about clean sheets and bowling balls, or putting the sun on a giant trampoline. Scientists should leave the analogies to writers and get on with writing inexplicable equations proving that Black Holes are incredibly heavy and therefore drag shitloads of Space-Time into themselves. This morning I woke up and made a list of all the Black Holes in my life, and tried to make sense of which way I was being dragged. After I made the list, I screwed it up into a little dense mass and set it alight, as someone once told me to do. In the end, all that was left of the list was tiny particles of Dark Matter, the secret ingredient to Time Travelling. So I had already taken a step into the future, hadn't I? Relatively speaking.

********

Down the street it's hot and I dodge the fuckers that lazily zig-zag drunk on their own thoughts and stuck in the centre of their own galaxy. I have to avoid them gotta not touch them lest they contaminate me with malaise and menial masochistic meanderings. I've made a discovery I 've learnt a lesson and there's still a fucking galaxy tied around my feet but I can move faster now less gravity to the whole situation and the momentum is enough to keep this juggernaut on the move. Inertia had me never gonna let me free so I used the Laws of Judo and moved back in order to move forward. Now it's a slingshot effect. Bang voosh zoom get out of my way.

********

I always used my Lone Wolf jacket when I made mistakes. When I knew that Time Travel was impossible and there was no way to go back and fix that bridge. I put on my jacket, C. Thomas Howell and the Wolverines, and disappeared packless into the city. I could hide forever in this town, this forest. I could move without sound and sniff out what I desired and take it before it knew what had hit it, or I knew what I had hit. And every time I had a lonely sad thought about the consequences, I could hide it under my Lone Wolf jacket. That's how I made it so far. That's how my Black Holes never caught up with me. Shapeshifter / Doppleganger / I learned to see my own. To gravitate toward them. It's physics. Electro-magnetism.

********

I am living in a tangled jungle / oppressive heat and wet sticky floor quicksand which can take a man like that / GOTCHA / animals / beasts / beats thrum thrum be dum / I hide in the trees and swing whenever I can / I am black coated sleek and dangerous / I am hungry for blood / I am licking my lips / I am tired / I am hungry / I need a scratch behind the ears and a place of shade / I need water / I close my eyes and the last thing I see is the canopy.

********

Dopplegangers are masters of The Art of Camouflage.
I know, I was one.
But there are far more beautiful creatures out there than a shape shifter.
So it's hunting time now.

Affair.

I'm lying
on a beach,
under The Sun,
watching as
the waves crash boom
on the rocks close to shore
and I can see the patience
of them -
standing still,
understanding
her moods and
the tides of her
lunacy.

It's a good place
to spend a good day,
and I'm happy to watch
their affair,
to play the voyuer
and feel the salt spray
of her passion
on my face,
and feel his surrender
between my toes.

The Sun turns to me
and asks me what I feel
and what I believe
and what I think.

But it's like trying to write a song about Love,
all the words in my head seem shallow,
and my fingers just daydream across the strings,
and there's never an easy way to tell the rest of the world
how lucky you feel, to be yourself,
without sounding like you're one of the masses.

So I just look at him
straight
and let him burn my eyes from ocean to fire
and his heat takes everything from me
until I just breathe
to the sound of her
love on the rocks

boom
crash

boom
crash

Later,
I stand in the shallows
and let her tug at my feet,
and that's when I know,

that I am ready to drown.

3am Eternal.

Time sat
next to Death
and listened
to the
melodramatic
cry
of his tears.

Oh why does
she have to
live? Death cried
and lay his head
on the bar
while
Time inched forward,
attended to the
last of his drink
and quietly
ordered two more.

Doubles please.

Haven't you ever
felt Love? Death asked
to which Time replied
actually I have
and smiled
at the memory
of feeling Love
all those years
ago beneath the
stars.

But if you ask me
said Time
you can
never go back.

Death sighed.

There is nothing
more lovely
more powerful
than being in Love
it was
perhaps
the only time
I'd ever felt
alive.

Look pal
said Time
I don't know
what to tell you
I mean
everyone's
been in Love
at one stage
or another.

The barman
tittered as
he lay the drinks
down
and Time
reproached him
with a finger
to the lips
before
taking a glass
closing his eyes
and letting the
whisky work its
magic.

There there
he said
awkwardly
unsure of how
to console
Death
his friend
of many years
who sat beside him
in The Heaven's
and groaned
great
orchestral
sobs
flooding
the skies
with tiny
little diamond
slivers which
glowed
and sparkled
across the dark
depths
of the empty
ebony
sky.

It was a quiet night
in the old bar.

At that moment
the door swung
open and in walked
Desire.

What'll you have?
she asked
to which
Death replied
make me forget
the feeling
of being
in Love.

They ordered
another round
triples this time
and though Desire
did not normally
have a lot of time
for Death
she knew if she drank
enough
she would feel
like him
in the morning.

They ordered
again and again
until eventually
Death and Desire
walked out
hand in hand.

When those two
had left
Time stood still
and wondered
where Love had
got to as he
leaned against
the dusty
old
bar.

Not Poem.

Everyone is either

a writer or
a musician or
owns a cafe or
has a baby or
is buying a house or
is looking to further their career or
has just opened a bar or
is djing this weekend
or is friends with your friend
or has just hooked up or
has eaten at that place
isn't it AMAZING or
has just been published
or wook at the widdle pooochie
or has just returned
from Thailand
or France
or The States
or The Tour was great
or "we knew it was fate
as soon as we looked in each other's eyes"
or have just bought a car
or a brand new guitar
or this is my new place,
you like my yard?
You want some coke?
Really? Because,
I've given that shit up
like, ages ago,
did nothing for me.
Here's my painting
it's in that gallery
you know,
on Brunswick St,
and I'll be on TV
soon,
with The Band that
just made it,
they used to play at that
run down old pub
but they're good friends of mine
like, we hang out, you know?
Do you play?
Do you paint?
Do you cook?
Do you
do
anything?
Nothing?

Hm.

Weird.

Well,
gotta go.

Which I guess
is fine.

Don't want to be bitter.
Not bitter.

I just sometimes wonder

if anyone plays Dungeons & Dragons anymore.

Or Risk.

Or Trivial Pursuit.

That'd be cool.

Murder.

Simon murdered a guy,
lifetimes ago,
in black and white,
over some heroin
somewhere in Sydney
sometime in the seventies.

He did five years for it
before he was acquitted.
Out of the blue
all charges
were dropped.

Simon's father was
a very wealthy man,
but still
had waited five years
to cover up the kill
to pay a down and out
nobody
to take the fall

Waited five years
so that there would be
a compensation payout.

So that his ledger
would be squared
while his boy was in there.
While his son was in there
rotting and scared.

Profit and Loss,
Boy,
he told Simon
as Simon emerged
back into the light
five years of fight
and hurt
in his heart and
hardened
in his eyes.

Profit and loss,
Dad.

They used the
compensation money
to expand the family business
Simon moved to Melbourne
away from his past
at last
and over the next ten years
(they buried their fears)
the Father & Son
became extremely wealthy men.

Simon was a murderer
when he met Susan,
but he didn't tell her
right away.

First were the flowers
then the dinners
then the cars
then the bedroom
then the animal
then the truth.

But Susan didn't mind.
She needed shelter,
and his Hell kept her warm
and his violence kept her hidden
and her room was painted
black and blue
for
the nights when it happened
and
the sky
when she cried
for her son,
the passenger,
who tugged on her sleeve
and said,
he's not here
can we run now?
Please?

But Simon and Sue
kept dancing their
doom, until
eventually Simon
murdered her too.

Simon was a two time
murderer, and Simon
was my father.

Boy did I run.

Run into the
changing colours
black to white
to anything bright
talk to me blue
hide me red
change me yellow
change me yellow
change me.

And years went by
like that.

Simon was a three time
murderer,
the next time I saw him.

Another wife
in his life
had fallen on her knife.
It happens
I suppose,
and so on
it goes.

And my empty heart and
hollow eyes noticed
the metaphor
when I saw him,
the pane between us,
and thought
I'll use that in a poem later.

She wanted my money Mathew,
that fucking bitch wanted my money,
she fucking took the kids and she fucking wanted my money
I fucking worked my whole life for that fucking money
that's my fucking money my fucking money
my fucking money, you know me,
you know me, you can say I'm not like this
I'm not a bad person Mathew, you know that,
it's just when people fuck me
when they try to fuck me, when they take
when they grab, when they steal
like you Mathew, you stole from me
but I forgive you, I forgive
because that's the sort of guy I am
Mathew,
I forgive you.

I took a cigarette out of my packet
that day,
very slowly

looked at it
looked at the coat of arms
printed on the paper
looked at the gold band
encircling the filter
I noticed that cigarette
was particularly well packed
before I lit it
before I drew back the smoke
before I looked him in the eye
and said,
Goodbye Simon,
Goodbye.
And that night
I cried.
I finally
honestly
cried.