self-portrait – with wires, city, no clothes (Stu Hatton)

Posted on March 26, 2011 by in Heightened Talk

i am open
and open
and open
(the city, sleepless)

city, be slow with me,
city … slow down …
(i love you)

though back home on my body
hair grows like wild grass

back home in my eye
something quick and approximate

(a snapshot
of the whole perfect whole?)

you asked to see a photo, but
i asked for paper
to write on

am i colour-code wires, ant colony,
wide area network,
landmass seen from airplane window (?)

am i sub-atomic ghost (?)

i am those
and those
and those

(sometimes i
look very familiar)

am i the words

which with use

became unusable (?)

the gap between

inbreath, outbreath (?)

i want to plant lamps

i’m walking around
no armour, no cloak

(i look pretty strange)

i am yes
and yes
and yes

and here
and here

(i’m so glad
you could make it)

* * *

First published in Verandah.

 

The Breaking (Stu Hatton)

Posted on March 24, 2011 by in Heightened Talk

 

the shatter & melt:

 

glass filled with ice

slipped from my hand.

 

i mean, i was

just flaking in a booth, dimlit bar,

3 friends,

drugs between us making mistakes

 

&

didn’t want to know

your whereabouts

how you were captured

what painkillers stomached

what beds caught you

when you fell.

 

i fell till 10am,

blurred in cabs, throwing money;

crashed some dirty-hive recovery

 

glued to girl,

dosed up & vodkas,

flapping mothlike at the lights,

kamikaze.

 

played

dumb, played

dead

 

& in her eyes,

death that pretty young thing,

saw a way in.

 

 

Driving Hours (Stu Hatton)

Posted on December 3, 2010 by in Heightened Talk

reading dust

signatures

 

communication

of the road

 

we blur

trees

 

’92 mixtape,

landscape

mix

until we tire

of music

 

too-loud talkback vowels

when the tape

ejects

 

engine drone

hazes stale exchange

 

*

 

we stop

to wake

 

truckstop

litter

overflow

 

reminded by

the occasional

bird

 

*

 

driving out

of night

 

everything

vibrates,

the stars

 

even through

the petrol stop

 

no stills

 

*

 

motel mattress

tremors

 

remember

how to sleep?

 

air-con

insomnia

 

highway

still straining

south

 

flashing down

to the border