David McLean Mathews

god dead dog
aims lips of ooze
fruit of strength
tongue of passion,
...

The winds groan through virgin pine valleys
as we sit and puzzle over the death
and birth of two nations so remote
they might as well be brothers.
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Good evening
I write for a living
Or describe and think
With a visionary zeal
...

Dylan Thomas rode up the highway in Milton
His warbling jowls ruddy with drink
At 99 he’s seen the howling
World with egrets and sea eagles
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In two foot of water
Foaming like baking soda
8 footer in front
You’re far enough back
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Gambolling gaze across Mount Ainslie
where the azure spray of impeachment blue
meets the harassing nature of gumfull land,
as the heat eases its way into eye sockets
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Riverlets of summer rain
cascade down the outurned
window as lightening strikes
pale Ludwigian tragedy;
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i sit on my roof watch the alien birds fly wine and treats to a nest in the Japanese maple ~ i understand the valley breeze puffing up my nose ~ its hook reserved for flicking raindrops when the blackcloud dumps ~
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In autumn, I tend to
my words and write of
the plane crossing the sun.
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The Catalina Flying Boats
Swing low
Catching the sou‘easter
On a right bank
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Christ Almighty
I offer my condolences
To the hostie
Her grim smile
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As if one 5: 30am swim
Wasn’t mad enough
Let’s do it twice
In three days
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There was madness
on the bus this morning,
a lilting, baffling madness
rolling up in a wall from the south
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Sparklers warblers backpackers frontlackers
Litepackers dull tie-rs
Flashlites bright sparks
Groaners grunters spruikers
...

Quick 140 chars
In laneway
Black and moods
To match
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In sun with furry kisses
And crazy love
Smoking stares
Rattle your guts
...