wet vacuum

Did you ever dream
you were suckling?
I did, once.

A mouth filled
with the breast —
not my mother,
not Gillian:
the breast

A mouth filled,
inner skin
lined with skin,
a mouth, an I,
I, an I,
space filled
with a firm cushion
sealed in by my
wet vacuum,
moulded, changed by my
action

They weaned me at nine
months
Onto a cup
No more wet vacuum
No more
changed by my action
No more
inner skin lined with skin

What a good girl
Look how grown-up our
girl is

After that I sucked my own
thumb
It has a hard centre
It gives no milk

First published in Creatrix 35, December 2016

Coffee

At 3am. The messages.
Something about coffee.
A while later,
a disclaimer. Coffee
means coffee.

What did he want?

Probably nothing.
Probably he types his message
looking at my Facebook with his cock in his hand
then after he shoots,
retracts.

To hell with that.

But coffee?
Three or four dollars a cup.
Much cheaper than loneliness.
You see it everywhere.
I told him Fridays were good.

Whatever

he’s doing now
do you think he’s
having good coffee?

First published in Creatrix 38, September 2017

Melbourne poetry fans: Jackson’s in town soon! 3 Sep Passionate Tongues

Melbourne poetry fans, in case you've forgotten what I look like...Melbourne poetry fans, take note! I’m booked for a 10-minute slot at Passionate Tongues on Tuesday 3 September (7:30pm at The Brothers Public House, 42 Johnston St, Fitzroy) and hope to be included in the open mike at the Dan Poets Anthology Launch and maybe at POSTY and whatever else might be happening.

I have two new books, A coat of ashes and The emptied bridge. Both will be available from me while stocks last. Pay as you feel.

In the dream, he tells me he doesn’t need a condom

(From The emptied bridge)

In the dream, he tells me
he doesn’t need a condom
because

he has his book. In the dream, we’ve both
read it. Condoms are a manifestation
of Capitalism. A Bad Thing. Probably

made by Monsanto. We don’t
need them. We can use our minds
to divert the sperm. In the dream

I know it works, if done
correctly, wholeheartedly,
together. We have to trust.

I can’t.
I can’t.
I can’t. Yet

in the dream, we don’t
have a condom
to our name.

My poem ‘Split and shaped’ wins Ros Spencer Poetry Prize and is published online

Happy news! My poem “split and shaped” has won the 2019 Ros Spencer Poetry Prize and is published online here. I wrote it while doing an online course with the Poetry School. It was inspired by visiting England, where I was born. The competition was judged by Dennis Haskell.