You let go of my neck and I flew round the room in a flap Blew all my air out in a noisy flatulent panic leaving a flaccid exclamation mark of bright red rubber in the corner of the floor Waiting for the next set of lungs to inflate my fragile ego with so much hot air Caitlin Smith August 14th 2006… Read the rest

When your mind is made up I can see the white wet-patches of PVA Sticking together some decisions strips of ego and a few shiny pieces of doubt until it dries and clarifies then it gets hung on the wall with your name on it It can change as fast as a soufflé’s deflation Makes me laugh As excuses spill out thoughts get scrambled and justifications coddled together like a bachelor’s every lonely last-minute meal No agenda Thrown together Assembled And made to fit No matter how it tastes Caitlin Smith August 14th 2006… Read the rest

I think I sprained my ankle jumping off the pedestal landed on the left foot on an angle not the right one Works of art shouldn’t talk back it’s all about the narrator subtextualizing the all-pervasive viewer’s subjective power the style A perfectionist gaze Is rarely turned inward dare not shine the torch on the projectionist’s face “I don’t make ‘em honey, I just show ‘em” “Make of them what you will” typecast Pinned butterfly to a screen broke free fluttering about in a blinding white whir of pin-spot celluloid brightness the audience saw through two out-or-proportionally large wings in a panic 30 foot wide fight and flight Obscuring disturbing the scheduled feature With a spontaneous entomological prison break Reality unsuspended Over-exposed Can’t be contained in a few metal boxes “Hey you!… Read the rest

If you were a forensic expert You could trace my journey home through little bits of bile From Ponsonby Road to Grafton via the tattoo parlour and Hopetoun Bridge’s night kitchen Past the girls too young or not clean enough to work the agencies of Karangahape Road Maybe they like the thrill of the chase or that bitter taste of freedom.… Read the rest

Blessed day Our homes are not being bombed our parents may still be alive And all that is news is the weather Forgettable temperatures No longer even reincarnated as tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapper Blessed body wants to heal I can feel it’s efforts like a stranded whale who will return with so much care and so much love The will of the tide pulls it back Tries to remember its wholeness so the cells can celebrate who they are and what they do all according to plan Blessed are we to live in such beauty with greenery and vast open skies Drives some people crazy who can’t see it anymore those who ignore They’ve grown over it like a cataract (so don’t look back – only upward) Blessed are we to feel Pain, temperature, sorrow, relief If only for one breath it is a gift all the same Blessed in our ignorance to our privilege and comfort So few comparisons with those with less Only more Here in our beds with electricity and privacy With senses and perceptions and the wisdom of experiences tucked inside Safe in storage (the past cannot hurt us now) Memories only want to be remembered when we can learn from them Well Like sages waiting on the mountaintop Their wisdom in their patience Until we are ready Until we are ready to heal We Are Forgiven Caitlin Smith 7th August 2006… Read the rest