a colleague, simpering under pressure, shrinking into his right shoulder and smiling, unable to name names.  "but which authors?"

moderating myself in camera, taking in wound up overactive grin, the shiny flush and temple vein. turning the dial down, moving slower.

"you don't always seem comfortable."

hands together on the desk. how are you in the room? do you know?

washing unfolded & left in the dim apartment, door closed on it, bright light. on the bougainvilleas no lizard. no birds but asian mynahs, arguing, distressed. and the skinny tortoiseshell cat unruffled. down in the lift. students writing in a black room.

in and out of focus. faces in meetings. the calendar and the emails. a visitor to fill in forms, large breasts, loose black hair, acne, composure, presence. yes, she can translate from tamil, without hesitation. through the window in a door - grey curls and a smurf's face, his italian name just lightly resting on his shoulders.

I come to find you walking the damp wood between the crocodile pits. oh corkondilly, what a beautiful corkondilly, you don't need to be afraid. that's it, that's the girl, that's the way. where I have to come if I want to see you - there in your waders, walking the damp wood on the other side. I think you must be short sighted. you keep your face turned down.

and I don't love crocodiles. there's no way from here to you. I breathe loudly and I cough but you are busy with your work.   I look at the moon. I look at all these swampy trees. walk the beam.

a video on human security issues

is playing inside the rooms of rest.

a woman calmly

reports an incident

into the emergency intercom.

oh! that is an alert passenger. thank you. 

some footage of some severed limbs. 

a closeup of her blackened teeth. 

-

who is this man with the heavy bag?

what is inside the bag?

pay attention to him if his behaviour does not seem right. 

it does not seem right. I am paying attention. 

am I paying attention? do I seem right? 

I am not sure what is inside my heavy bag

or if I am looking for a particular station to get down.

-

furphies

cannot see, but feel, the violence of money, its action in liberating will.

cannot see, but feel, the violence of poverty, its action in restricting choice.

What did I see today? I walked over the rise, through a cave, through the yard of someone's fishing hut to a cramped town wedged on the peninsula between cliffs. On one side it presses against mangroves. Open air bars have been set up on wooden platforms. Beer and curries are served amongst mosquitoes, crushed water bottles, muddy plastic bags. Shops for tattoos, skunk, massages. Then as the land gets firmer, wall to wall resorts - many with no walls, just contiguous terraces of fountains and pools, beds for lounging or for massage, pavilions for shade and refreshment.

I found a lane through the resorts to the beach on the far side, the bright, shelly side, frosted with beach mats and pink bodies. I walked to the shade of the cliff, waded, listened to the roar of the long boats. 

On my way back I startled a pair of lutungs as they fed, maybe dusky leafed monkeys, one stuffing a wad of broad, bright leaves in its mouth. They retreated a short way into the trees, then barked warnings at me as I passed underneath. 

Dear Doctor,

I want to answer your questions properly, even if what's done is done. I can't ever take back what happened or change the look that came over your face, how it opened up a trapdoor to this place I'm in now. But I will answer at least, in hope, and so you know that I am not holding anything back on purpose.

You said last year that the anniversary of your son's death was just before Easter. And when we first started working together you told me that it had been fifteen years since you had lived in the Canterbury Plains, so with those starting points it was very easy to find the rest of the details. You have to understand this when you give information about yourself. Anyone can just pay a fee to the newspaper to search through their files, it doesn't even cost very much.

The newspaper report mentioned the type of airplane your son died in, and it showed a photo of a piece of the wreck but the photo was black and white. It was easy to get the model itself, it's not rare, but it took me a while to make sure I had the right colour scheme. I began shortly after Easter, so research, purchase, assembly and painting have taken me eight months. I'm not totally sure what I thought would happen when I showed you the model but I didn't expect you not to recognise what it was. I thought you would know and understand straight away. I wish you had, so that I didn't have to go on to spell out what I have been doing.

When you finally understood the look on your face was awful. It sounds stupid now but I wasn't expecting it. I  have never felt so abandoned. You looked tiny and crumpled, and you picked up the model like you might have been able to see something in there. But there wasn't anything. I didn't put anything in there because I wouldn't have known what to put, and because although the body is hollow, it is just one piece, and the windows and the doors are sealed.

I think it will be a long time before you are willing to work with me again and this is very difficult to accept. But if I have to accept it I want you to understand too. You told me things to help me know you and trust you, but you weren't ready. Perhaps you still need to process some things about the death. I think it will be easier between us once you have.

We were both upset, so I'm not sure this was clear, but I made the model for you. If you would like me to keep it for now, I will.

Dear Doctor,

My miniature schnauzer has a liver shunt, and my veterinarian does not recommend surgery. And yet many of my schnauzer owning friends and relations tell me that surgery is the optimal treatment. My veterinarian went to a highly regarded school, but she often seems terse and unhappy. I understand she has had marital difficulties over a dishonesty issue. Also, since moving to our area she has not settled well or made healthy bonds with the dog breeding community. My schnauzer has always distrusted her, and the veterinarian reacts badly. Do you think the vet is refusing surgery out of spite? How can I be sure that a woman like this is telling me the truth?

 a woman is alone on a large wheeled platform being towed up a beach by a tractor. the tractor skirts the edges of mangroves and leaves broad tracks in the brown sand. the platform is arranged so she can step onto concrete stairs, and a man comes to carry her small silver case ahead of her. They walk up through the bush to a sheltered reception area, where she signs papers and drinks a glass of tea. behind her a series of motorised canoes with curved prows continues to ferry passengers and supplies across the bay, their sound echoing against the cliff walls. "it sounds like an air field in here," she says, and the receptionist agrees.

water’s limbs

lengthened yours

in a system of

certain colour’s tiles’

lifting elimination

and a system of hook

and loop reversings

out easing into

so easing a

lengthening

that was longing

into an unknitting

knitting as a liquid

of being within a

being within

a without

certainly friction

knowing held

--

we stepped out of the car and

already trolleys of instruments were

assembled & the warm tar losing its shape

though not even enough light to distinguish 

one instrument from another

-

i was running with you

to where it was quiet, you

wrapped in blankets,

holding your own weight

-

and sweat came up

with the clattering

and so on in construction

object for object we turned correctly, incorrectly

and in a by-way

what did I see today, what did I see? I saw one man slow, salted hair, quiet, going into himself to find talk, letting it rise up slowly and not directing it at the camera or at me behind the camera but just letting it enter the air. Later when I saw him standing next to another man -

-the other man I talked to at lunch last week, good jokes, a little bit of playing with the eyes -

-and I saw suddenly that the other man's hair was dyed black, that he had shiny mod shoes on, and that in front of the poet he was shy.

the poet said nothing startling. he just moved in that nice way, wore his shirt in softness.

Dear Doctor,

In the weeks since our last appointment I've been through my things over and over looking for your card. At first I took things one by one from the piles of clothing, books, papers, made new piles, the same. And then for a few days I focused on getting some sleep. Once I'd slept well I could see that if I just put each thing away as I looked around it or under it, sooner or later I would find the card.

Last night I found it - it wasn't under anything, it was sitting on my dresser. Blue, with the practice's phone number, the practice's email address, and your name. When you handed it to me you kept both hands on its edges and made eye contact.

I felt better once I'd found it, and worse, too.

bath

after the meal she decided to have a bath instead. at home they always had baths, never showers, and always at night, never in the morning. while she was lying there a man in a blue swandri came along and stopped by the toilet. she was lying flat back and stayed motionless while he unzipped his zip, because that was how she had been and she couldn’t tell if he had seen her. but when he started to piss she couldn’t help but sit up, moving into her knees to cover her chest, disturbing the bathwater. immediately he looked at her face and his stream dribbled off into silence.

with her eyes she lined up the fluorescent lights along the covered walkway. insects were battering into them. down in the bush a kiwi was crying out, week, week. “that’s embarrassing,” he said, then tucked himself in and walked away. her eyes felt  full, everything was shining, it was just a bath, there was nothing to be stupid about. she got out and dressed. because she had no towel her clothes twisted on her skin. and now cold came up through her wet feet from the ground. in the morning, she decided, she was going to find her shoes, which her mum had promised her would still be on the property somewhere.

I said it was like that anecdote about the blindfolded men and the elephant, just feeling ahead all the time, never getting a sense of a whole, just fragments and darkness.

Afterwards he said that while we were talking an explosion had happened behind me, to the right of my head, the cloud forming the shape of a lightbulb. "I hope no one was hurt," he said. I couldn't discover which moment it might have been, because he had given no indication at all.

I shutter to think

"my son, it is hard to tell all that one's eyes see."

and as wood-ash covers over the deep embers of tree-stumps, so Hermes cuddled himself up when he saw the Far- Shooter. He squeezed head and hands and feet together in a small space, like a new born child seeking sweet sleep, though in truth he was wide awake, and he kept his lyre under his armpit.

duck-kissed



and in all faucets of life

"Now, however, the place where you stand shrinks:"

We do a great deal of acquiring. This weekend we acquired all new pillows, expensive ones, and I threw out the old ones thinking but a couple of them might be able to be washed but I threw them out, and we bought a humidifier because once airconditioned the air is so dry that we get electric shocks and because the untreated air turns all our things to mold. And as we were acquiring things and throwing things away he opened up the air conditioning unit and we saw every bit of its internal workings caked in thick, bobbled grey mold! Well, sayonara mold, zai jian, farewell! How do you say this in your language? Your time has come, we have no regrets, we do not want you here? If your culture were more sophisticated you'd have some words for this.

yes, dig dig dig it up little bird
ore,
ore,
ore,



Dear Doctor,

I have a problem which happens when my girlfriend and I kiss, which is that I get an erection. It is really embarrassing, especially because sometimes I think she might be able to feel it. I have tried to think of other things but it doesn't seem to help. Is there medication I can take for this problem, or exercises I can do?

"look closely at the most embarrassing details and amplify them"

dusk-kissed

opal
 nipple

motherly recline and
flanks and curves and
elemental embrace


Dear Doctor,

I have a recurring dream that I have forgotten where I parked my car. I would like to mention that I drive a late 1990s Japanese sedan in a dark red with grey interior and, at present, 4 months left on the warranty. I wake up with a feeling of frustration and doubt, as though I'm losing my mind. What does this mean? Do you think it would be best to get some kind of evaluation?

journal bit

soft soft soft as a ghost here at the land's swollen abdomen, dusk-kissed and flittered over by winds and birds.

and criss-crossed, criss-crossed by ghosty roos and madrigals, beating their way round needly trees that hold their lives apart,

in agreement with the sky that offers an almost nothing, rarely,

to the earth deciding and relinquishing its form.


here, dig here, dig here. a bird scratches for the thought of a wisp of dried root it can carry back to another life.

claw-prints, paw-prints scattering. quiet. dogs come to shit and stumble off. winds come to work on what is left.

skillsawn, the street hammered up would
& powdered bannisters

              the way down,

           grey flights to the river
           sounds
                          
           cat's cradle across the valley's clean stretch
        

          slowboat, fingers, reformations of attention

       two flights above, voice, hawk, spit, towards my turned neck

shriveling up in the sun. looking for a blindfold.

what did I see today, what did I see? I saw nothing. I saw EN's eyes friendly, the way he said 'Of course! No problem at all!' over something that had been nibbling away at me for months. I saw the glue of his perfect bound book and I covered it with my journal while the rain came in at us, not so much sideways as exploding in every direction.

Before I see anything. Before I assemble into a direction in which to be seen. Closed curtains, yellow light, the fan sighing on.

This morning I dreamed about a bookish friend, awkwardly agreeing to kiss in the cabin of his boat. Convenience and the admission of long held half hearted
& slowly pulling away his clothing to reveal a chest - muscled and tanned like a young athlete! We've been *surfing*? Well, okay, sure, continue.

To write in the morning, mid-morning, late morning. When I haven't seen anything, been anything, when I don't know who for. An amoeba looking for an eye. Moving and waiting. Waiting for Friday next to be a beginning. Downpayment on a fantasy. As in going to a maid cafe, like that. Empty seats.

Last night I waited again in the queue. She said 'don't need wait again in the queue, just look for me' but I waited. And again, just before I got to the counter someone just walked in past the queue and began. Bangladeshi guy wanted to know about his parcel. Round face, patient, impassive, wanting. When did you send it? December?
December. 22.
24? Will not come yet! Wait two weeks, not come, come here, with your form!
22.
Where is your form? I give to you before! Come here, always asking asking, no form! Go home, fill out form, two weeks, not arrived, come back!

Stands there, doesn't move away, waits.  Round face, acne, quiet eyes. The post office man smiles harder and harder, doesn't stop smiling, voice gets louder, agitated, deeper into Singlish, bits of Mandarin. Sender looks from his parcel receipt to the empty form. Slowly, back and forth, one to the other. Stays at the counter and waits.

Today, what did I see today? Nothing much, just a turtle, not a red-eared slider, something else with yellow stripes, and the way its feet are diagonally coordinated, like alternating oars on a rowboat. Rowed him softer home.

Just empty offices, and our young secretary, who's come into the new year newly wearing the tudung. A happy smile, more relaxed maybe. Or maybe that's me, more relaxed now she looks less like a teen, our surly & forgetful one. Stop and say ... congratulations? It suits your face? What made you decide to wear it? What colour was it, anyway? Black and white, 'a feeling of independence and protection'. Tomorrow, stop tomorrow, take time to talk.

Later there was CY bouncing into school, still looking stressed. Aren't you resting, aren't you on holiday? No, Prof, holiday over, have to get started for the semester. But I liked that she was always a day or two behind on assignments. I liked that she 'could do better', then I liked that she did better, and now I'm not sure I like this, doing everything correctly, avoiding embarrassment. I liked the way she wore embarrassment, sort of proudly, with her chin.

Green exit sign in yellow light outside our open front door. Letting the light come down. Letting the aircon fall quiet while jets pick up the thread in the settling sky. Come birds, crying for each other in the dusk trees. Come heavy air & undry.

Today I saw the cleaners in their weekend clothes, public holiday holiday from their uniforms. Hello Sister, floods the toilet floors with soapy water, Hello Hello, crouching and shredding a bucketful of printed papers. Happy New Year. How is her shoulder now, her breast ? Next time maybe next time.

I saw an Indian woman with a large suitcase catching a taxi, and three Indian men getting out of another taxi just before, grinning at her, laughing as though they knew her, walking right towards her and she didn't look at them at all, not for one second just got in her taxi, and they kept looking at her, laughing then walking on.

I saw the carpet swim up, diagonals wanting the diagonals of my skirt. No no no, not right now, don't do that right now. RT: "At some point you are going to have to take responsibility and do the work." Her smile calm around a sneakiness, a dislike bouncing around us unclaimed. I don't want it any more than she does.  Her little pools glaze over, sentences disconnect and she doesn't seem to know it. The carpet attacking both of us. March lines.

Before that I had typed Charlie's name in to see what came up and saw a surprise, a blogpost, the story of his death. The girl who tried to open the door against his body and couldn't. Who climbed a tree to get in. Who said someone rang her and perhaps guessed she was a prostitute, guessed she loved him. So today I saw her climbing in through the window in the blog and was I the person who rang her? Six years ago? And did I guess? Maybe. I remember in all those people I talked to, going through the numbers on his phone, hoping to fulfill a wish, there was someone quiet, a girl, like I could hear the space of her bed and her love. But maybe it wasn't me who called. What she wrote was sweet and loving and brought his sweetness back. That he held her the night before. I would steal time to sit on the front step with him. Autumn or spring & dusk. Cat chewing flowers in the grass. We would make sure of a strong hello hug, a strong goodbye hug. Coming up the hall, taking his helmet off. Big smile and a hug.

emptiness

have an answer now for this which is yes.

have an answer now for this which is e yes.