The Little Mermaid.

She sat at the end of the bar; solemn, silent and nursing a vodka, lime and soda. I promised myself I would fuck her tonight as a tear rolled down her cheek and into her vodka; she didn't see it, she just kept drinking. I found it strangely seductive; someone once said tears make the best lube.

I sat next to her and asked her what was wrong. She paused for a second, then looked up from her drink. Her lime green eyes looked me up and down, then back to her drink.

"All you boys are the fucking the same."

She took the straw out of her glass and finished the rest of her drink in a heroic gulp.

"Here, let me get you another one." I was staying true to the promise I made myself - trying to at least.

"Yeah whatever." She seemed indifferent, but it was better than nothing.

The hipster bartender with the skinny black tie, shoulder length hair and dirty sanchez moustache made her drink the proper way; no cordial - muddling the lime with the vodka then shaking with ice.

I paid the eight dollars and asked the girl with the green eyes her name.

"Ariel; like the mermaid."

"Why is such a pretty mermaid so sad?" I know its lame, but you've gotta work with what you're given.

"My boyfriend is a cunt." That turned me on. "He cheated on me."

"Yeah, he does sound like a cunt, how could he cheat on the little mermaid?" Stroke the ego.

Thirty five dollars, eight cigarettes and a packet of chips later I was walking to the taxi rank with my little mermaid. She’d stopped crying, and her smile was haunting. I had never seen anything so beautiful, and I was seeing it in double.

The ten minute taxi ride back to her place was silent. We kissed like we were underwater; we'd drown if our lips parted. My fingers slipped below her skirt and the little mermaid purred for a second.

We walked the stairs up to her apartment; conjoined twins at the hips and lips. Her shirt was off before we made it to her door.

I threw her onto her futon bed, she pulled off her skirt; I crawled up to her and took off her French laced knickers with my teeth then ate her out for the sweetest 20 minutes off my life. Her breathes became short and rapid, her moans were sonnets composed by history's greatest poets.

As she came she grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into her crotch, like she was trying to suffocate me. It would've been the most glorious death; fuck honour and dying in battle.

I climbed up her body, licking every inch of her porcelain skin. She kept singing her seductive sonnets.

She exhaled a verse full of metaphors and similes as I held the promise I made myself earlier. She had already come so I wasn't concerned for her. This was for me.

The little mermaid was on her hands and knees as I finished my own flawed sonnet. I painted a masterpiece on her lower back.

I lay next to her as I caught my breath. She kissed my neck and ran her fingers across my chest, drawing love hearts.

When I finally caught my breath, I rolled off her now damp futon bed and put on my jeans and slipped on my shoes.

"Where are you going?" The little mermaid whispered.

"Sorry baby. We're all the same."

Very GC.

There is nothing scenic;
or serene
about the Surfers Paradise
skyline.
It is nothing but
a brutal
bukkake scene.
The skyscrapers
are the dicks
slapping against
your face.
And the only glitter
on the glitter
strip
is the glint
of the sun
off the cum
on your face.

sell yourself hope.

he ripped off her clothes with three chords
and a protest song.
a song that implied there was hope,
hope that equality would write itself
into the stars of the southern cross.
hope in the essentially good nature of man.
hope in a future for our children.
hope that our borders wouldn't isolate us
from those that needed our help;
the cold,
the hungry,
the defeated.
hope that we'd accept the differences of others
without discrimination or
preconceived notions of race and religion.
he was clever,
he had done this before,
he knew
nothing gets babes wetter than hope.

i run out of cigarettes sometimes.

Sometimes I forget my name;
and my place.
I see manicured fools
slyly check their reflections in shop front
windows.
Like thieves, successful in their art.
Just keep on smiling you credit-card chameleons.

Time and again I forget my voice;
but not the idea.
I see these songbirds
gossip and scheme
I open my mouth and the sound is exiled
before it exists;
an unplanned child from an unplanned kiss.
Keep on singing you birds of prey.

Too often I forget my face;
my space,
my time,
everyday is a distant re-run
from a distant VCR.

amsterdam

my camera broke theother day.
i am now in amsterdam,
and feeling odd.
i bought a magazine.
ate a sandiwch.
drank a beer.
took a shit;
all the while i'm
sleeping on the floor.
the train station taunts me,
i feel alive.

olive tree oligarchy

It was under red wine and olive trees,
we spoke of women
we'd never know.
Where the sun baked our
socialism;
we cut our feet on the glass
of bourgeois ways.
The cigarettes started singing
choruses of flames
in the tall grass of our camp site,
dehydrated by the summer.
The panic was dulled by the
aforementioned wine.
Though the moon never shone;
we were preoccupied
with the cuts on our feet.
We fermented our gold.
We became alchemists.

forest fire.

She was a burner of cities;
a siren with a can of gasoline.
She bathed in flames,
and danced on coals.
The embers were her children.

She lured men to their deaths;
and each one she cremated.
She came in sparks,
to cries of help.
The embers were her children.