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Recent Poetry

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Island Magazine, Issue 168

no one would be as fluent as us / swimmers. gliding through what we know as air, density augmented.

     the sunken couch. I always thought

it could devour us whole, my cousin and me,

the dark blue depths the same colour

as the night sky, speckled with white bits of lint.


takahē magazine

i remember the phone call: my dad’s boss

whose office i visited once a year as a kid

to deposit our annual Christmas gift.


i didn’t ask the questions then.

                                                    disintegrating photos

nobody ever looks for. catalogue of absence: my parents’

CD collection, dust-coated, should probably hold a garage sale

and see which of my old school friends show up, accidentally

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Gems Zine

                                      that day


was the best. your sister was like my sister.

we ate pistachios and shucked the shells


into your foam roller. 


Cordite Poetry Review

those were the best days.
pelting rain illuminating
the overcast pool. clouds
as bleak as that Christmas.

Consequence Forum

these days i’m in bed by 9pm.

the rain lashes our thirsting yard

until the dead grass drowns

into its second death and i’m asleep.


Meanjin Quarterly

             the ram. April 20. just google it.

Мама used to say i was a Taurus

the way i tore off hunks of black bread.

i used to believe her           but we didn’t live here then.


Voiceworks #125 Spectre

There’s a boy I swim with whose father just died of cancer,

a girl I coach whose mother passed the same way,

as well as the mother of my only remaining swim friend,

and an Olympian whose dad died too young.

Cordite Poetry Review

Vegemite on toast is what the locals eat around here.
not sure we can call ourselves that, with our lack
of pantry. a few shelves of Home Brand basics:
my childhood. sometimes news in the morning.

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