oneill

oneill

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when really is the fracture? and who lay the serpent beneath the tree? in dream space there is no story, no centre so we build our house above a painful remembering: we are but matches struck in darkness sunday april 5 - easter ‘26

I lean on your doorframe I know you won’t be there Your car’s not on the lawn From the hallway I don’t hear you laughing It’s quiet You arrived quiet, trusting A tiny universe nestled into my neck and chest How could such a small cottage Become so empty? Every day is a jewel Every smile a sun Every heartbeat is

spectral tongue across the lunar code we beam our breath swirling into the desert to return wicked when the stars have clumb to full magnitude and we lay doggo overthrown return’d to our spirit ghosts for we are never still wandering like campsmoke in thin strands out to the stand of york gums where honey possums hide along the tangled seeps fringing the floodplain

he found a petal here once tossed in the aeolian temper of high january beyond the osprey's clifftop sticks past the curve of the bay where the wet sand hummed and the weight of his body stood beside him in the restless water and he himself a stripped, weathered refection he lay on the sand by the water's edge foam-licked ear down listening to the groan a giant jawbone sleeping, the wet moss scent of ambergris he rolls to his back on the powdered cove leant into life leant into death

he found a petal here once tossed in the aeolian temper of high january beyond the osprey's cifftop sticks past the curve of the bay where the wet sand hummed and the weight of his body stood beside him in the restless water and he himself a stripped, weathered refection he lay on the sand by the water's edge foam-licked ear down listening to the groan a giant jawbone sleeping, the wet moss scent of ambergris he rolls to his back on the powdered cove leant into life leant into death

the sun lays upon me warming what was numb I dreamt you until the darkness faded and as I moved mechanically through the cottage out onto the high porch patches of dreamt-you kept running through me like cold water shocks from a showerhead know this, if you rained on me then I have stood by the fire but I am chilled I shiver

Post in the rapid flowing water where hearts race downstream there is no understanding of death we hear, perhaps or briefly wonder, until. the efferent globe off its axis still spins so, you set your alarm make your bed find yourself in the mirror brush your teeth swallow the demon and face the day

hosts

the cottages shiver below a bald moon we lay huddled, still our pragmatic, rational dreams softly snake up kitchen chimneys like incense like lines of wet laundry crossing the yards the yellowed street lights in unison close an eye the darkness softly spirals slack tide schoolyard, reception, fabricators frozen in ice the youngest coughs between us I roll slowly don’t twist your back you drift when the coughing stops I drift in a murmur the money will come soon with intimate blindness I repeat the procedure hi viz, boots, thermos sandwiches you packed while I slept idle the car just so you will hear it, stir make a pot of tea

motor

fall with me let go love is an accident you wanted so badly longing all the towering hours for one to empty yourself into galaxies of spreading stars touch me fingers I have ached for find my face as I trace the handwork of god swim across green pools in you I am delivered

misunderstanding

Arctic white butterflies land upon my lover and our sleeping children I am composing a piece on death to play alone, in darkness each brittle note a tap against glass then an hour’s silence the butterflies’ lightness - falling petals on the skin of my loves their breath trembling translucent wings makes me cry each tear a note in the score I have laid milk, honey at the table in the morning blue wrens will flit at the window but tonight arctic white wings open and close to the sounds of breath my workings and glass keys

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writing since 2011 · 115 entries · 106 days shown up

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on this day 13 years ago

minimalist wrote about senator
“Leaning inward Like masts of yachts Forces seen, felt Perhaps not understood As if the essence of you Is my keel I always yearned To become a thing Well honed, intrinsic A hammer's handle …”

the words minimalist reaches for

lovekisscoldwaterwetnightblackbloodgreenholdrainsleeplaydeathhandblue