This will hurt me...

  Night light. The road to Whyalla, South Australia. Listening to Music, Getting Horny The air is acerbic, bitter, abominable in its annoyance— but then, the music. It hums, a mellifluous aurora, diaphanous as gossamer, sliding into my ears with astonishing aplomb. I do not want to be here, beleaguered by the banalities of daily life—its atrocious hullabaloo, the appalling humdrum—but the sound, the sound is different. It is always different. The beat is a clandestine caress, as capricious as it is compelling. I feel it move through me, not delicately, no. It hits with a benevolent violence, awakening something deeply familiar. An ineffable ache stirs, somewhere between ribcage and hips, a strange, sublime longing that becomes suddenly unavoidable. It is this: the music touches, then taunts—now casual, now intense, now furious, moving like lithe fingers across skin. My thoughts blur, my body answers. A dreadful conundrum: to sit still or to feel everything. The melody does not care...

Experiment on the way home #1. Sandy Bay Road, Sandy Bay. July 2013. Here is a poem that I wrote in two minutes about another poem that I wrote in one minute. I consider it... ...an experiment. I Wrote A Poem , Kris McCracken I wrote a poem once. It was a good poem. A poem like no other poem you have never heard. The poem - that I wrote - a draft a play a practice exercise game. It was a good poem. But I threw it away. Experiment on the way home #2. Sandy Bay Road, Sandy Bay. July 2013.