thirteen word poems:

one. how to find the perfect metaphor to communicate my current state of contentment?

three. the cool feeling of the sheets against my bare skin at 1.16 am.

ten. he wants me to love him, but he lives miles away from me.

thirteen. if i didn't know better i'd say she were possessed. she wasn't herself.

i was rejected so damn hard last weekend i think my ears are still ringing.

but i'm not crying anymore. i just feel a dull ache somewhere i can't even identify.

apparently there is a world of urine stain and odour removal.

i turn 18 this saturday.

i hate my job but next week is my last week.

then i go visit my home. and get drunk with old friends.

oh, my damn, i hate the scanners in this place. how i wish i could scan things larger than a postcard. that would be real swell.

at the art gallery of NSW:

middle-aged woman 01: blah blah blah, wank wank wank, blah blah... but that's one of the really fantastic things about art; that you can interpret it in any number of ways, you know... whatever the depth of your intellect allows...

middle-aged woman 02: mmm-mm...

nerissa (murmers): so matt, how does the depth of your intellect allow you to interpret this piece?

matt: it's a big fucking tangle of barbed wire.