I
look at the derelicts & stalkers waving their towels
in the wind/ from the half-way houses of the lost &
lonely men/ some caught creeping behind rocks or trees/
or lifting tram line barricades or sleeping it off in
native grass or blundering through saplings with tooth-
brush, spare socks & flasks/ homeless men sunbaking
beneath the wide stony blueness of day/ whiskered
cheeks, shredded shoes, top hats & a few old dogs as
living blankets/
their raspy laughter & cardigan
scuffle over the last drop in a brown bottle & much
pissing/ or chasing you across the park with their
pink skin dangling from their pants/ tripping over
their own shoelaces or going for a gigantic tumble
into a puddle of vomit created by them for them to
fall into/ what do perverts do hidden from view behind
walls of leaves & straight dark bark like window
ledges?/ like natural private living rooms of wind &
sun & rain & insects?/
why do stalkers in royal park
roam around with their trousers half down?/ with bleary
marbled eyes & sad dropped jaws & matted hair knotted
with seeds & burrs?/ who did they belong to & what day
did they spring into?/ it's as though they came up
from the ground after rain/ it's as though a bird
would nest on their shoulders & pods would scatter
from their mouths when they spoke/
do nocturnal drunks
fear stars blurring the sky like traffic behind rushing
grey clouds?/ & do perverts receive rain like flowers
which sprout from the soil of their shirts or from
buttonholes?/ perverts do not like the colder weather
preferring a warmer shelter on stormy nights/ it is
safer to walk alone then/ if only the homes for lost &
lonely men would take them/ on full moon flooded
nights when the park is intense/
when possums nod
whiskered from tree hollows & city ducks curl up
inside pockets of pond reeds/ if it would accept
their ruined sexualities & undone emotions slipping
from zippers/ & tearful masturbations wrapped in their
fingers/ instead huge parks are there to receive their
isolations & obscenties/ & deros falling down like
dominos in groups or alone with raincoats thrown down
on the damp ground/
& perverts fretting in high
pitched winds carrying the languages of zoological
animals/ perverts cagey within the big park distances/
in gales of ferocious shouting downs of grass strands
with lifetime curses & disappointments/ & an occasional
creep with dirty running shoes coming your way with
slurred words/ & actions that turn in the air like
catapults or broken down windmills/ & human spit
flying like sleet from rotting grey teeth & toenails
growing vicious dirt
II
he is coming across the park in a sloppy red top &
corduroy trousers with mud on the cuffs like fruit
gone bad/ rain saturated & sun dried with watery
clover weighing down his socks/ & ground water drawn
up through the holes in his shoes into his greyish
white legs/ i distract my two dogs by throwing a stick
away from his stalking/ they chase down its flight
skidding in woodchips & bent saplings/
a fear creeps
down the back of my shirt collar & spreads across the
grass until it trembles at his boot tips/ he looks up
& in the distance he sees the whiteness of my turning
cheek on my black raincoat/ we silently acknowledge
that there is room in this world for both of us/ he
views me from the corners of his eyes & across his
sharp nose pointed at trees like a beak/ his legs
appear ready to launch him but he stays where he is/
once he approached me from behind & tried to touch my
hair & my dogs chased him across the oval/ so that
his hairbrush & mug dropped out of his towel wrapped
in a bundle/ & he cried out until all the birds were
disturbed from the branches in small winged frenzies
& territorial shriekings about his head/ my dogs
patrol the spaces between us sniffing dog markers/
& tasting the scent of bitches until their happy tongues
click & a dribble of ecstacy hangs from their chins/
the city council has left the big park unattended &
weeds have overgrown the grass older & neglected/
whilst i was away the winter rains drowned the young
river gums/ & they grew bulbous & waterlogged with
diseases in the trunks/ & i knew that he walked the
park wintry inside & noticing my absence/ he said he
will wait in the park for me/
that he will push my
face into the dirt/ insects on my legs & derelict
grass through ripped stockings/ he is stronger than
me/ he has fought me & laughed at my silly bird
wrists like matchsticks & my clumsy club footing
like a wombat/ he will force my lips apart drawing
blood/ he will come to the bars of my teeth & caged
eyes/
his laughing face as part of the treetops & his
strong arms tangling me in their branches/ then his
hammer hands smashing my teeth in/ my crumbling teeth
like chalk/ & my broken open mouth that will never
close again/ i will cry out to the overhead leaves
rushing the sky with silence/ with only the wind
through the feathers of birds to cover my nakedness/
he is the stalker i am in love with.
III
the police will see me as human/ will take down the
details of him to make me feel better/ whilst noticing
the details of my appearance & requiring physical
evidence/ whilst requiring my ripped shirt & semen
stained underpants/ my dull black eye, splitting
headache & broken jaw/ requiring my crushed tail bone
& broken ribs in a court of law/
requiring my slashed
nipples & tangled intestines to hang down over my cunt/
requiring my corpse for less paperwork/ but senior
constable i was only stalked in broad daylight/ i
wasn't even raped/ but see this cold blade of fear
in my chest/ would you kindly pull it out?/
then slap
me around & send me home/ to the broken house in which
i live/ & would you kindly keep me company?/ when are
you required back at the station?/ would you like a
cup of tea?/ & then you will see me as human/ & the
stalker will see me as human/
i will say i am pregnant
& that my doberman bites & that i am married to your
uniform/ i will say i have aids or the clap/ i doubt
if he would like that/ so senior what are his likes
& what are his dislikes?/ i want to know eveything
about him/ i will be the whore he can catch the
disease from/ i want to be more than sexual to him/
fuck it/ i want him to see me as human/
i want to buy
red roses & chocolates for the sadist/ i want to run
a bubble bath for men who bash their lovers/ i want
to be affectionate to psychopaths & perverts/ i want
to be compassionate to con men & abusers/ i want to
write a historical romance on a serial killer/ i want
to give a hand & foot massage to a pornographer/ i
want to knit a scarf & woollen mittens for the
prowler/
i want to carry a condom for safe sex with
the rapist/ i want to be shocked & startled by the
hugeness of a flasher/ i want to make a cup of tea
& hot scones for the stalker/ i want to throw a party
for psychic vampires & creeps/ i want to fall in love
with chauvinists & misogynists/ i want to heal a
psychotic with his hands around my throat/ i want to
take a peeping tom to the ballet or the opera/ i want
to be a polite rape victim with a sense of humour
IV
are you telling me that even the shade of the trees
has become my enemy?/ & driven into the light of the
park that i have become a target?/ & when the stalker
was running at full pelt/ filling that safe distance
between myself & him/ i turned to face him/ as if i
had run from him i might never have stopped/ & he
might have caught up & dragged me down into the
grass/
so i turned on him with a gift i had kept
from the night i was driven from/ hey you stalker
i am protecting my intimate space/ now i'm not saying
that i have got a gun/ only that if i did have one it
would be within easy reach/ i said: don't touch me you
fucking creep/
i speak of the pervert who runs the
distance of the soft grassed park/ who runs in the
wind of my shadow/ that day i was vulnerable &
unprepared so he followed/ i said: don't touch me
you fucking creep or i'll blow your fucking lights
out/ now i am waiting patiently for the stalker to
approach me/ i want that stalker/ i want his awareness
of my presence/ i want him to walk past the bush where
i am hidden at 6 p.m./
i want his sadness/ i want him
on his knees/ i want to claim ownership to that which
i despise/ i want to get his phone number/ i want to
know where he lives/ where he goes shopping or when
he laughs & cries/ when he is lonely or angry/ i want
to know his joy/ the colour of his eyes/ but first i
want my dog chain around his creepy little neck/ so
i can string him up to the dying fig/ so i can drag
him around the park
V
i stand in the park alone/ a twilight gale howling
about my ankles/ my arms reaching up into the centre
of the overhead storm which still has heart enough
to carry me within it/ tossed on its spirals of ice
& thrown down/ like an oceanic bird hurtled from its
raging oceans inland/
a forlorn ball of sticky broken
feathers stands beneath the fig tree/ it is as if it
has come from nowhere/ at rest on the dry patch of
earth beneath my raincoat/ its orange claw clinging
to my running shoes/ for a while i will be its black
umbrella & it will be a tangle of feathers & shoelaces/
becoming fragile we will rest perfectly together upon
the stony crags of my weatherbeatenness/
i'm holding
my face in my hands as the one-legged bird turns its
head into its wing/ we are between storms/ aware of
the wind that roars for us to rejoin its chaos/ the
bird beneath its tiny wing has surrendered to become
part of its own darkness/ i beg the park to take my
tiredness into itself & to take with it the despondent
bird/ but it only cracks my fabric slowly/
royal park
is ancestral/ the magpie that was here a year ago is
here again to nod at me/ i acknowledge its black &
white with a wink/ every year the park brings me its
magpies & its talk of parrots & tree hollows/ & the
magpie says: i want to tell you that we are still here
& that we know where our land is/
snakes emerge like
rivulets from red cracks in the clay/ i see another
pervert loony windmillng gathering speed & shouting
arms & legs across the oval/ making visible his lonely
tracks & singing of medications & absurdities/ i
caution my growling dogs & the magpie flies off to
another tree/
the church of royal park is buried
beneath the football oval, the toilet blocks & the
tennis courts/ native insects rise up through the
scattered pockets of native grass/ but the presence
of corruption is killing me/ my teeth fall out & hit
the dirt like dice or jacks/ whilst the wind brings
me its odd stories of length of park travel/ i am
living in royal park amongst birds & derelicts/ my
body preserves its own wintry poverty like squashed
figs pressed together behind glass/ my eyeless skull
searching the satellites & space debris for wishes/
that falling stars brought into childhood summers/
into insect-filled backyard atmospheres/
one brown bird
in the hanging tree branches notices my disappearance/
still suspicious of tatters of clothing fluttering
like rags/ the bird sings the leaf tossed song of my
vanishing/ lost in its own tiny storms/ of broken
foliage & cold wings/ then a spine of lightning strikes
the tree down its dead centre & shatters it/ the
lonely bird is a cinder/ tomorrow my wisdom teeth
roll along the ground/ like wheels of bone, like coins
amongst the dry leaves/
before the great overhead
wetness hits the cold weather parks/ before my final
absorption into grass blown wildly along the soils
of its back/ my eyes once looked into its sunlight of
spiraling colours like crystal marbles/ until my grief
pushed them out like soft hail from my forehead/ to
smash onto my teeth which lay scattered at my feet/
& down to its bitter hard stories of winter nocturnal
