A different time

 

It’s not like it was before.

Now it’s tenderness and empathy

after sex I know I won’t return to.

No longer is it larrikin.

 

It was almost ferocious. It was mountains

in winter,

and the fog was light in the morning.

 

But the heart just has no place for her.

 

I’ll not be laughing about it

with my boys.

I won’t be proud at her expense.

There hasn’t been a win,

only tenderness

and empathy.

 

I’ll text her. I’ll wish her well for the week.

I’ll share that link. She’s me

in female form.

She’s trying her best.

So am I. I hope she feels that. 

 

 

 

 

 

Good luck

 

There is nothing a woman

desires from you more

than a wedding day,

and nothing that is sure

to nauseate her more

than being married to you.

 

Good luck.

 

 

 

 

Back again

Back again to say goodbye

to pantomimes I’d called my life.

I’d faked it well; I’d faked it sweet.

I’d had the girls and taken treats.

 

Indeed, it’s changed; I’m more alone.

I’ve all the reasons, now, to doubt.

And yet my spine feels strong as stone

and yet I’m light as cloud.

 

Perhaps it’s how the soul atones

and how we work shit out. 

 

 

 

 

 

One for another

One religion for another.

The wretched human heart

—the poor thing—

crawls

from one religion to another.

It grasps

for a Church.

It stretches out its desperate web

to catch an idol in the dark.

 

Today

we’re trained

to worship the rainbow.

The city streets of Adelaide

rainbowed out some more

—a call to prayer,

a call to arms

to out the closet heretic

who dares blaspheme the acronym,

the Church alive and well.

 

We need a Church,

be it old or new,

robed

or rainbowed.

 

For the heart is weak. I get it.

It’s scared to do this on its own.