Bloodlines

Words against white
the inner moves to out… through dark skies
and heavy whispered dreams.

Lost in history
Buried beneath the fence posts round the back

A body remembers
that weeping child from beneath the skin…
Tormented organs wrap their fears round hiding veins,
where blood moves silently.
Like an army of red umbrellas on a grey city day
it hopes for anonymity
despite it’s passionate coat.

This heart is fed on generations of unspoken grief.
This heart beating with the bloodlines of tears.
This heart moves through.
This heart smells change near
and the soles dance closer to the edge
of new beginnings
With a shaking breath held tight…
beneath layered dreams and a sadness
that comes from a history not yet lived.

a hook undone

I grasp hold of this momentarily
Sliding
This darkness is wet
And my skin slips beneath rain filled skies

This city sets me adrift
And outside of humanity I float
Without a buoy
I am lost at sea

You wave
From your cherry bathed skin
And your knicker bocker smiles
Unaware
Of the fear
That circles below me
Schooled in grey and racked with razor sharp teeth

The drowning goes unnoticed
Because I am too shy to make a splash
My calls fall silent beneath this surface
It’s glassy hand held softly over
Lazy lips

A man is drowning
A boat floats by and offers savior
“god will save thee”
he has faith
a second boat floats by
bigger
“here son grab this rope”
“god will save thee”
[repeat]
he drowns
at the pearly gates he questions gods ability to rescue a son
“I sent ya two goddam boats”

I laugh
Awkwardly loud
In the back of my throat
which I swallow with a noisy beetroot
I wish didn’t exist!

Out windows
I see a different life
Through glass framed
I escape
In shadows I cry

My teeth ache when I wake
Like I have been punched by lethargy in the gums

I wash this away in ritual survival
I gargle my emphasis and spit it in bubbles down slow moving drains
My emptiness clogs these pipes
It’s destitution fills it’s steel throat like cement
‘Harden the fuck up’
The plumbing mumbles back at me
I swill
And spit

The décor drips with the need of change
And the house reeks of forgotten flesh

Desperate
We seek each other out
All teeth and gums
The union is never Hollywood
When lonely laps collapse into fumbled grasps
A hook undone
A boot left falling
A stocking half removed
A fantasy as grimy as a squat shower curtain
A hurried escape through vicious grinding

Release this soul
Undo the buttons placed across broken lips
Smother me in scented sighs
Let me fly with you in my hands

States of Panic

Thoroughly encumbered by you
my ribs stricken…
I am falling into states of panic.
Swallowing my breath as the depths consume me…
An all too familiar territory
I fight hard to return to the surface
I battle against inevitable currents
As I am swepted from under…

Loosing myself in you
Was pleasant when your warm gaze caught me.
But here I am gasping for air alone.
Here I am emptied of knowing.
Here I have forgotten what I know,
and I send myself deeper.

You wave oblivious from the shore…
You,
in my life,
all think I can swim.
You all believe I can run marathons…
I keep it secret that I know how to drown.
I know how to sink.
I have deceived you by learning to float,
but all I need to do is let go,
relax…
and I will drop like a stone…

I take on the house!
Attack the carpet.
Dust the shelves.
I pile my needs at the door…
dirtied with fear,
stained with my own self loathing…
I fall silent in the kitchen…
I am caught
Forgetting to breathe
and now I can’t move.
I listen as my chest expands,
and the laundry begins to flood…
I let it!
Let it flood out my pain,
let it rinse me clean
Readying my fears to be hung out in the dying of the last winter’s sun…

I am emptied for you
as I grapple for relief.
I demand attention
I pull at strings
I conjure games
I run!
I turn on my heel and I bolt!
You can’t give me what I want…
My needs smeared in manic nestings across the walls
As I pile my excuses in the corner
and let mould grow on them…

It’s not being left alone I fear
Its forgetting how to be alone

Never mothered for need
I fight against my genes with a ferocity that leaves me standing numbed…
Longing lost in the distance,
regret falling loosely at my side.

I inflict myself,
contaminate my purpose with dirtied blindness…
I let them shovel their hatred into me,
as I pretended to lick it pleasurably
Soaked in their resentment I lashed my desire into wounded flesh
I watched her eyes grow grey with it
Her teeth yellowed
and face sunken
as we both lived it…

But I was not exploited as a child
Through seedy hands
In broken farm lives and living death.

I was not thrown down stairs by alcohol breath
Nor raped in the back of a panel van

My body lives it
My body lives this pain of generational trauma
and her fear teaches me to run

In the hallway
The vacume cleaner is dropped
I, heavy against the eaves
Weep with release
I suck breath in
exhale her pain
My own journey starts as I remove dust balls from the corner
in strong vigorous strokes.

Through my domestic meanderings I am liberated
from panicked states.

it's enough

my tears dwell in your sleep
my spine extends to your touch as I fold myself into you...
Made foolish by wine haze
i miss you when you breathe softly next to me
I will your eyes to open
their gentle in their reassurance
and i feel silly all over again!

i feel you grow in me
and the pain just extends touch my heart...
I don't feel like I'm falling
with you I'm soaring!
You meet me in the stars
and we drift across the endless space of our lust

Disappear a little more into me and
salvage my ends from the wreckage!
When your with me I feel like your treasure hunt
and you always come up with a handful of gold
where did that come from?
perhaps you grew it in my
while I slept

if you panic I promise to breath courage back into you
just let me close enough to kiss you

don't forget me again
your imprinted on my skin...
i will leave traces of me through you hair...
my breadcrumbs lead me back to you
and I feel you soften with the magic we make

never stop finding the rabbits in my hat
their pink noses makes me cry with laughter

I am willing to fight for you
I will build you a tower for you
and when you need to hide you can pull up the ladder
but when I call to you
send me down your kisses

knowing you are there is enough for me
you are enough
just like this
eyes on mine
it's enough

so this is what all the fuss was about

World don’t you smile so gloriously at me through these specs
Your voracious tone
wiping it’s smug across my face…
Lacquering idiocy into giddy giggling grin…
I wrap my fat grossness around you in public
and the single boys cringe!
The girls they weep behind green tears…

Defiant in my glory
I believe my language beautiful
and my figure handsome
when molded by your stare

My thumb pumps out my wandering temptations
while a small blue screen lights my face from beneath the desk
or within the draw
At work, in class, on the bus…
I hope the man behind is reading!
I want him to whisper
“ludicrous”
such a pretty young, peached cheek thing she is…

I hold back!
Oh… I hold back

So this is what all the fuss is about!

What fun!

from within orange thinking chairs

the amount of times we 'not' do this
link like paper chains in decorative times.
we staple coloured limbs methodically
and soon the room is looped in our efforts...

we play scrabble with laughter and teases
through coiled lines and underground wires
from bed, from beneath the desk, from within orange thinking chairs

I am in my flannel p.j's and uggy's with me kidneys snugly wrapped
from my granny lap seduction coils
and my tone is slightly huskier in your distant presence

nothing is unusual about this
but still i wonder when I'll blink awake

this is what real people do
this is how things begin
things with ends that have no meaning now
things that loop like paper chains
only stopping when the staples run out!

with or without you

New breath
within which I seek silence
There is dust beneath your early morning speech
I drink it in with my lips
for my ears have been dumbed by your touch.

Forsaken certainty for this!
Exchanged time for air…
and the dust settles in your hair!

Sunken fears dig for water!
While the roots are busy sinking
the leaves have already sprung early shoots

We drop the coins and listen for a distant echo
None comes
It is in our own silence we invent the echoes of our requests

I am happy to dive with or without you
With or without you I will fall
Is your hand in mine?

unbreakable

teetering on the edge of this and that
feeling out the words...
through distant nights
minutes feel like hours
when the sky lark calls like this

such that passion parted my shell
and you appeared inside me.
I could have filled you for days
i could have used you as bait...
but I'd rather bask in your skin,
for all the stillness I could muster

i fell silent in my longing
screaming with haunted passions
as shreds of consciousness
were flung across the room

stripped naked in this pulsating moment
we crashed tackled our history to the ground
and forget that we were running
until our shoelaces became momentarily untied

my skin is silver for you
and my mind wanders like a lost balloon
seeking the atmospheric burst
that will send it falling...
limp back to earth!
A mere shrunken remnant of it's former self

I tell you I am unbreakable
yet I can't help holding you close...

how did you find that key?
I've kept it hidden so long
even I had forgotten the way in!

words suffer out loud

i enter a time for silence
it's descendant of this pain
how ugly we fall in human shells of skin and bone
barely worth the straw at the end of a brisk broom

i am waiting on the stoop
but no one comes
send me on my way and I will look towards the stars to bring me back to you

keep quiet and the night will follow
breathe readily and someone will decide a reason for you
don't fish in dams
rivers are where you can find life

just fall into pieces
at least then the jigsaw can begin!

didn't your mama warn ya?

Let’s epitomize my fuckedness
Shall we
You
me
A cold crazy town
This whiskey
How many ways could you fuck me?
When the tears are freezing before they hit the earth
How many days can I tear holes in my stockings?
Hoping the chill will make me run faster…

It was easier to survive before the care grew within
Learning to crawl only makes for grazed chins
Nothing can hurt when you’re made of stone
So why chip off the concrete when that’s what protected you for so many years
Pain doesn’t dent the iron will
I’m calcium deficient not in need of sucking your blood…

How apt your timing is
How ferocious my bite can be
Didn’t your mother warn you about running across the river on stones?

Maybe this time I was wrong

There are movements going on inside
unrecognizable formations
developing… they tangle with the old
and become neutral in their appearance
But they’re there!
Holding fast and fighting new grounds…

Today they feel no different to the sands
that have passed through over time
But I know if I get out the stethoscope they will have a beat of their own…
Distinct and alive
Replacing the dead days that lie strewn across the door jam…
Awaiting the last swift brush from an angry broom

Tears come readily with dreams but turn sour in daylight hours
Their vampire teeth shrink away from the gaping light
and cascade with an eager relief as the moon settles into her nest…

Petrified of change but never satisfied with the same
I play foolish games of roulette
It’s the moving on I just find so damn hard to refine
Show me the lock and I will use the key that’s sat dormant in my palm…
too long…

What have I done?
What have I done?
What have I done?

Don’t tell me I was right because maybe this time I was wrong!

awaiting the bit

This is the moment before the tide meets the sand...
amongst foam, sea vegetation and lost things
I suspend
gravity is lost to these thoughts
let loose on tandem
the catapult downwards... earth bound
they give the sensation of flying...

toes never reach the ground when eyes are cast skywards

I am casting off and reeling in
one swift action that reveals little
except for, the hope of fish

any good fisherman would recommend patience
and the company of an old friend!

let's get on with it

Looking for a string of red crackers
I spy the blue beyond the sound
momentarily disarmed by smoke
I confuse tiredness with melancholy
and build miniature walls around my heart
invented by the broken bits of time

I wait for a popping to ascend up my spine
and for your acceptance of a suspended lettuce
I offer my attention halfheartedly
and question my hesitation
a billboard awakens me from aimless analysis
"What has love got to do with..."
'reality' I add impulsively
a reminder the teenager inside is well and truly
buried beneath life

I desire you in the dark
but only feel comfort with you veiled in daylight
we have days between us
and days to come
the stories of my history
tell me to pipe down and live in it
leaving my questions at the doorstep
I wander through the welcomed year
with a 'being it' attitude...
but never forgetting my romanticism
I grieve the days my heart once throbbed

you say happy valentines
I respond with happy new year

let's got on with it
this is the life of adults

Trafficked

Cycles that come in short bursts…
Each time I settle amongst the soft dirt a wind comes
and blows me into unrelenting traffic…
I grapple at tyres
And recoil from screaming horns
“I’m not in your damn way I’m just trying to find room for me”
As the dust turns to rain
there becomes less of me…
Yet still when I find the right size crack
I get squeezed out before I can settle, seed and grow!

My face is heavy with the endless words that awash my head
Ear to ear I am useless repetition
Things will change, changing things, time will change, just got to settle…………….
Have we started yet?
Looking to the forward
Two thousand and zen/ren
Bring in the tiger and the ring masters
What?
They’re here? Were… here?
But I haven’t even found the first page yet…
Could someone please prompt me?
I’ve seemed to have lost my place.

Needs slipped beneath the toppling pile of challenges
My list of ‘things to do’ no longer consider life.
Each time I feel it at my fingertips
the wind sweeps it away.
Back into the screaming traffic
and first coffee fueled glares…

It’s hard to find clarity when the world has you on the move
but gravity prevents me from dropping my bags
and the time master is questioning me directly
If only I coULD HEAR HIM OVER THE TRAFFIC!!!

Ruby slipper moments

An interactive, photographic installation exploring the internal and external representation of the artist in a new environment. Using at hand apparatuses and the manipulation of artist and viewer Ruby Slipper Moments represents the artists adaptation to a new and threatening environment.

From outside the structure audience members can view large scale collages created out of scanned body parts, abstractly assembled as a representation of the artist as a flesh casing. Intercepting these images are random grainy street shots taken with a mobile phone, these images are placed at will on the overhead projectors by the audience members inside the structure. Sandwiched between the internal and external visual representation of self are the shadows of the audience as they pass through the projector beams. Layered through this is a sound scape, coming from small, scratchy hidden speakers. Both the sound scape and mobile phone images were gathered by me taking an image and a 60 second sound recording every time I had a "ruby slipper moment" (moments I wished I could click my heels together three times and be back home in Darwin).

Memoir of Skin

Our bodies house memories. Our scars and wrinkles are the remnants of events that have molded us, they are the topography of our life. Moments in time are stored within our flesh waiting for a touch, scent or sound to release them back into our consciousness. This work explores the lines, textures and patterns of these forgotten memories.

I used Butoh to tap into the performer’s body memory, conjuring up the concealed colours and textures of past that they then mapped out on the bodies surface. In Memoir of Skin the body becomes the canvas and Butoh the tool of expression. The performer used texta, ink, and paint to interpret the patterns of their body memory, making a map of their internal worlds on their external flesh.

In this work I have used the video and photographic documentation of the process to dissemble and reconstruct the performer’s individual experiences to recreate my own memories.

The five films are all representing traumatic, shaping events in my life that sit deep within my body memory. These moments revisit me not in thought but through a sensory resurrection that embodies me physically.

1. Five Years Old and Drowning – 2:30mins Music: Window by The Album Leaf

2. 6ft under and falling – 3mins Music: by Hole

3. I lost Genevieve on the way to the Hospital – 3mins Music Smell Memory by Mum

4. Ngandi' Mirringu (Yolngu Matha for a reciprocal Mother/child relationship– 3mins Music: Mouths Cradle by Bjork and Lullabies by Emily Lubritz

(unfortunately due to technical difficulties I am unable to upload video to my blog at this present time)

Take a good hard look at yourself!

Take a good hard look at yourself! questions the value of self analysis.
Through a lengthy, experimental process I aim to gain objectivity of my own self image. First photographing my reflection onto film, digitising my image, converting it into a series of dots, transferring it to silk, then printing it onto three different surfaces, aluminum - reflective, glass - transparent and muslin- translucent. Through process I separate myself from my image and the time capsule in which it was taken in hope of gaining insight.
This piece was sight specific and created with the gallery in mind.
It required me to learn many new skills and go way beyond my knowledge and resources. With the enthusiasm and help of many strangers and my lecturers I managed to almost achieve my original vision. Moments before the opening two of the pieces fell and shattered, ironic really. As another saying goes, "Don't look too hard, you might not like what you find out!".

City Discarded

The concept for City Discarded grew from Anais Nin's short story "Ragtime".
Over the course of a week a group of performers played out fringe dwellers constructing their very own shanty town in the middle of a central city park in Darwin. City Discarded investigated the notion of home and possession whilst commenting on the communities response to corporate development versus the itinerants dwellings. The performance aimed to provoke debate amongst the community on the issue of ownership and use of public space, whilst looking at individuals personal perception of possession and home.

Life... draw... in...G

my hands are wooden tools
dissecting the page.
as these lines culminate into shadows
ink drips from the cracks of my fingertips...
I bleed the lines I see.

My hands and eyes work in confused unison
adjacent
and in harmony.
Dense heavy shoulders drive the markings,
acting as the grinding block
that conjures the strands of ink.
it forms the language of my fatigue
as I work in automated motion...
switched off...
tuned in to Life.
depicting the draw,
rediscovering the in...
drawing is my breathe
while exhausted the rest of my beaten body sleeps

Through distracted long distance slurring
I race across the page...

The referee has given me time out!

On butchers paper
I breathe...

living the reality

this place stinks of loneliness...
i suction onto anything that moves
with such uncertainty my voice begins to squeak.
most actions are time fillers
and words are my distractor.
the humidity of days gone by have left me open and full...
I cling to this feeling
and carry it through the streets
like a badge of honour.
i fear the loss of control,
a place not so far behind me
as empty days become empty minutes
i make map out strategies
and plan my attack...

i wont be left forgetting...
if nothing else I'll keep my words safe in my handbag
and an umbrella handy for sudden rain or whacking thieves

Two thousand and Ren

These streets are mapped out by my freckles,
each blemish a moment in which I existed in this place.
I retrace them and join the dots
to find the image of me amongst the markings of time…

I’ve been inside most the houses here.
Doorways hold my history,
rotting or renovated there is still remnants of my growth in the wood grain…
Many pools have kissed my skin
Many trees assisted my pallor
My laughter lived around every bend.
I cycle it backwards, blindfolded…
using my nose to sniff out my ghost.

These memories that weave my nest
will remain the net to catch me…
But a bird never learns how to fly til she is thrown into the wind…
The southerly caught me and blew me away with urgency
Free falling I gasped for air
I learnt to drown and learnt to revive

A learning that sketches a world I could only once conceive of
With charcoal on a brown paper bag
Torn open for vision boarding
But to scrape out those lines into existence takes more then burnt wood

As I connect the dots
the lines become the figure
and the figures traverse the lines.
Following them across other figures until all dots are joined
and together we form a master-piece…
Across distance to desert we etch out this world simultaneously…
While webs await our return
offering us the safety we will one day seek again...

From inbetween

Dizzy from the inbetweens
in between this and now
in between the ages
in between the sunshine and the clouds…

Heat exhausted and heavy with digestion
I hypnotise my limbs into action…
Moments away things will start blowing beneath my skirt
the lips of batik designs will falter my step
as I gain momentum in new found territories…

Time closes in on me like a comforting capsule.
As my grandmothers mind drifts into the depths of her history
Mine soars ahead.
Hurtling at speeds that make my heart falter
and my hands wary…
Floundering in front of me like lost jellyfish
in pre-storm waves.
Hoping to break the fall that feels inevitable at this speed.

I imagine the scent of crushed metal
as I eject the seatbelt
and allow a false confidence to determine my fate
I take calcium daily in hope it will strengthen my bones
and brace me for the descending future
that blinds my logic and lightens my heart…

I have stepped off
but not blind folded
My periphery vision is on full alert
as I await the moment I take flight
and accept the consequence of being wrapped around a tree…

because I like the curve

We’re in it…
or it surrounds us
High in our temple of words we let the ferocity gain velocity between us!
Legs tucked beneath me in denial
I laugh away the obvious
that your eyebrow provokes between sips of cider and beer.

I always imagined these unstable cement steeples would crumble in the storm
but here we sit
in the thick of it
and perched on our altar our foundations barely sway beneath us
This time we share keeps us separated from it.
I could reach my arm into it, break the wall
enter just a particle of me into the gushing tyrant that turns our view grey
Would one hand swallowed be enough to carry me away?
So I tuck all limbs in and remain safe
safety is where I’ll keep it
…because I like the curve of our bodies around the night
without the words to destroy this

Not all edges need to be tilted to gain perspective.

Mothers Oracle

In my mothers lounge room there is a grey box that feeds her information. Her oracle informs through its coloured images that can be altered and dismissed with the press of a button. Its insistent speech etches its way through my nervous system until it finds the endings to be pressed. Tampered by a subconscious mosquito bite I start to take out my agitated attitude on the nearest bystander, my deaf, lonely mother. I can hear her habitual comfort at all exit points of her house. This eve I move out into the caravan. Solace in my own screened companion, my mac speaks to me of calming mantra’s sung by the various voices of my favourite artists, how convenient these kings are to me now as I disconnect through ‘word process’ outside, while she disconnects through Ray inside.

We bickered over the positioning of the fan in the caravan, I walk away disgruntled but grateful for her help, then reposition the fan once she’s in bed. She has aged suddenly and it shows not only in her body but the habitual way she operates her day. She tells me about the fast deterioration of her mother and swears to end her own life before she reaches that point. Her words don’t sadden me as I will never allow it to get to that point, what frightens me is that one day it may be me telling my disconnected child about her miserable decline. I ode quietly to prevent this also.

I am learning to meet her nightly rituals for if I flee she comes looking for me in search of an irregular companion. I manage to persuade mutual interests from the box at times and deal in a semi-compassionate cringe with the way it shouts it’s nightly regurgitation at us. I appreciate her chocolate diet to cope in situations like these. Since flying solo she avoids cooking regulary but I can always rely on her to have a packet of mint slice, a box of havahearts and sarsaparilla on stand by. These days she is never without soya milk upon my arrival, a gesture that bemuses and gratifies me. Each time I open her fridge to a carton of Australia’s Own Organic Malt Free Soy Milk I picture the intensive care nurses raised eyebrow as my mother 3000km’s away lecturers him on how not only do I only drink soy but I only drink organic soy. A piece of fact she filed away about me during my Om Shanti dreadlock days and has never been able to shake.

Tonight her informer is giving an insightful lecturer about elephants psyche. Her favourite animal and a documentary, seemed like a sensible compromise, mother moved daughter stimulated. Turns out elephants suffer post-traumatic stress just like humans. In areas of Africa where large numbers have been violently slain by humans due to war, poaching or early seventies conservation practices the young males and disturbed adult females take their violent revenge out on rhino’s, humans and masai’s cattle. Their actions are purposeful yet they show signs of regret. Orphaned elephants awake from nightmares screaming like the youthful victims of human war. I have a profound relisation and hope about the way this film could educate adults forced to work with traumatized youth. Having shared this field of work with my mother for years, a subject we constantly clash on I again test my philosophies. In pretentious causality (wary of the dangerous territory I enter) I mention how this theory could be easily transferred to refugee’s and Aboriginal youth in Education and juvenile justice and perhaps used as a means of understanding the behaviour of traumtised generations. Her dog interrupts me by insisting there is some unknown source she must urgently bark at outside, in letting her out my mother pretends to listen to me whilst talking to her dog, a conversation easier for her to engage in. I say “your not even listening to me” to which she doesn’t reply and I know she has probably heard none of what I said. Disgruntled I internally oath to bring this topic up in my art one day, if she hasn’t the ears someone will have the eyes for what I know. I scold myself for being such a “know-it-all-smarty-pants” and remove my self to my safety cabinet. Here with my oracle I remind myself of the patience that will make this trip more pleasurable for the both of us. After all can I expect the woman who planted the righteous, liberation seeker and passionate activist seed in me to continue on that path? Isn’t that why she laboured with me for over thirty hours, retirement through the hands of an unwanted, distant child, seems like a legible trade off.

More guided by the hands that seemed to let me wander solo, more touched by this disagreeable friendship then my pig headed heart would like to admit.
The kings sing to me “Love comes like surprised eyes in the water” she did not save me from drowning but she has listened to the story repetitively and in my double fanned incubator of peace I forgive a little more and grow a little taller.

Gearin up for 2010

Give me a pair of rubber wheels and a set of spokes to make music with
Skirting the coast of this town
where my heart lies still and my mind awakens to the smiles
the storms bring in

Give me mango soaked horizons
and evenly spaced days
Open spirited alcoholics
and the down and dirty discussions of a Friday Beer at sunrise

Here my aging bones could rest
until they rot
Buried beneath the crowded flame trees
Disintegrating amongst the plump worms and mating frogs

There I will lie in contented sweat
and swollen veins
Heart bursting til still
Eyes smiling til closed
Limbs sighing with relief

But til then I’ll be busy
Bustin down the doors of the city streets
Marking my stride into the pavement
I’ll find the edges of the sky
stretch up on my tip toes
and pull them grey clouds down
Trample them to a smoky haze
that nicely highlights my swinging hips
as I take that bitch of a town by the teeth
and walk her straight back to her place at the bar
Where I’ll down me a whiskey
and salute a job well down
Before I saddle up and head on back to that mango-swollen land.

What happens on the island stays on the island

We all took that sip
the cups were raised, the cheer loud
Amidst the roar were the fresh promises to ourselves
We resolve to change our wayward ways
But they fall beneath the wayside for the night
as we dance our cheer into coral sharpened dawn

I pinned your startled skin to hotel sheets
You were not the only one who had never met her before
The girl astride your resisting/insisting hips
was merely a new acquaintance of mine

But the thrill of your rabbit fear electrified my spine
and I took your reins in for a steering
Your tongue was for teasing
My breast my armor shining white lily beneath the blue moon

Here my new year begins,
taking what’s mine
I taste the lingering scent of strength
As you determine your pleasure by my power

Sugar never tasted so sweet
when drowned in the cool
of a Balinese lime juice…