The Abominable Yowie

I said hello to the Melbourne poet, Peter Bukowski and his wife, as I did laps of the citizens park.

I’ve got a rare family cancer gene, but I’m going to take my chances.

I got on well with the heater man

I’m the poet of Diana’a heart, and she’s proud of the man I’m becoming, even as I failed to do the windsor knot in my new tie today.

As the last post played I thought of myself as the last poet in the flickering candlelight by the letter box

We trust God, but there’s going to be some collataral damage

I’ve seen men die under trains, I’ve seen addicts die behind bathroom doors,

This morning a little boy is childhood’s hot air balloon, his mother says “sit down” but he’s rising up to the heavens

I’ve come back from the hang over, and I’m hanging onto all that’s dear in my life.