Wattleworks

roses climb rebar;
neighbours forgive trespasses
and leave it be

The idea of plants trespassing fascinates me: there’s a constant struggle between nature and society, but the struggle is entirely our invention.

the elder gull
rests upon a quiet jetty
and winces, slightly.

There’s something incredibly sad to me about an old bird. A symbol of life and flight and freedom, now grounded and creaking with age.

in the moonlight
beneath the city's shadow
i can almost remember winter

It’s barely the first weeks of spring here and I’m already begging for winter to return. All things must pass, I guess.

the neon glow
from last night's party
still stains the rooftop

I don’t know why but I’ve always found the city’s light pollution somehow inspiring, as if we’re waging war on the darkness itself.

someone else's cat
brings a dead mouse to your door
and performs the ritual

As a teenager I lived in the country, surrounded by all kinds of strange and wild animals. My neighbour’s housecat was the strangest of all.

an errant post-it
falls from a penthouse window:
"buy eggs!"

Yoko Ono once had an art installation where you climb a ladder and look at a tiny piece of paper stuck to the ceiling, only to discover it simply says “Yes!”.

waves crash like wine
in this oil painting
in this dentist's office

I think a lot about scope: not only the place we’re in, but the places containing that place, containing that place, containing, containing.

in Paris
we all take photographs
of Paris

It’s simplistic, it’s stupid, it has no seasonal elements; it’s probably the best haiku I’ve ever written. (So far.)

seven termites
in a penthouse planter —
oh how far you've come

I wonder if insects understand the concept of teleportation, or if waking up in a completely different place is just a normal part of life.

in all its glory,
the sun finally rises
(two weeks too late)

Winter is always perfectly on time, but spring never shows up until the very last second. I’ve been to movies longer than last year’s spring.