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Blood Moon Scrub - Through the eyes of the Lost Soldier

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Through the eyes of the Lost Soldier The sky is bleeding into the dirt again, and the old hunger crawls up through my boots. It no longer matters. Time does not march out here. It pools beneath a dry creek bed, stagnant and unseen. But when the moon swells, heavy and bruised with copper rust, the cold in my ribs becomes a scald. The scrub does not burn with heat. It burns with memory. Through the tangled mallee, I see the flash of artillery, the orange-red roar of a barrage that never stopped falling, trapped forever inside the rib cages of these dead gums. I taste copper on my tongue, sharp as rifle oil and dried blood. The black heavens press down, bending the whole world inward until I am trapped inside a glass bead of fire. I pace the boundary where red light cuts into deep shadow, waiting for a relief column that lost its heading eighty years ago. Everything here is parched. I am so thirsty. But I do not want water. I want your nourishment. I want your dawn, your warm pulse, as yo...
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Celeste Goya's Dog Paradox

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Celeste Goya's Dog Paradox
Reawakened as your own victim
From your once grandeur
Of yesterday's colonial might
Enter the paranoia
The loss of identity
Kill to be killed
Rape to be raped
Pilfer to be pilfered

The illusion of territory gained
False promises of maintaining identity
Kill the rabid dog
The dog is you
Protect what you wanted to destroy

To bring this world to an end
To return to your righteousness
Paid through ruthless means
The real cost is your victory





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