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this poor house where ... as in the book of songs ... a famous rat eats the seedlings ... as they rise
I mounted up and rode ... into a dream of silent shuttered houses ... I waited for an outraged God to strike me down ... for flaunting breasts and pubic hair
too much America is not good for you ... Follow your own Confucius-Marx mix ... Let them learn Mandarin, China — you have enough people to swing it.
I love the way you go from fat to thin ... Straight to curly
Do they stroke it with avid fingers, this palm tree lock that once grew from the full head of quietest genius? .. Scalping would be too much, headhunting too tropical .. but buying the hair of a dead woman you can't know .. is quite the thing
'Have you tried fruit?' said Francis .. 'Nothing to it that crackles and tears in the jaw!' said the head wolf. 'I will bake you bread' said the Saint .. 'It is nothing but air warmed and crusted, Entirely wrong for wolves.' And the thronged wolves .. Began to close
I bend the truth 'til it forms a circle .. I write with singular purpose, like a snail crossing lawn .. at night, I write in think, like balloons .. released in sunlight
the noose .. in a loop around his neck .. in a loop on CNN .. over and over again
Water colour petals grow into a crowd .. They populate the dustproof draft of an afternoon under the offices .. a saint shall guide anyone towards a meditation on the whole picture .. the Central Business District.
Kate Middleton is a Melbourne writer and musician. Her poems have appeared in Australian newspapers and journals including The Age, Australian Book Review and Heat.
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