Men
are made to invade and to hit
grim-faced and intense, they force me to feel
nothing but them: they bruise me
then leave me
pleading for pain, and all abused flesh
like meat on a spit
Some lamb
so when I’m empty
I want to be beaten
down, again, or to slash my face
which men have seen but
Men die
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Art lover. Loves her family and her dog.
Worked in the Australian rock music industry as a journalist and published widely as a poet before moving to London and spending the better part of a decade in advertising agencies. Returned to Australia and briefly tried teaching, primarily teaching English to non-English speaking, newly-arrived refugees but also as a high school classroom teacher. Has travelled Western Europe, North Africa, Russia, Northern India, East Asia, coastal USA, some Pacific Islands, and Australia.
