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2005 - Saloni M presents The Shades of Love


Matt Hetherington

Matt Hetherington is a musician and writer based in Collingwood, Melbourne. His first collection of poetry, entitled Surface, was released through PRECIOUS PRESS in 2004, and a chapbook of haiku and senryu written in India will appear in June of this year. He is currently Vice-President of Overload Poetry Inc.

Most recent web publications are: Three Poems (in Masthead) and Several poems (in Malleable Jangle).

He also contributed an essay for Saloni M in 2003: Notes on Barbarianism.

Contact: eyeskyguy@hotmail.com


Some Of Us

i lie with the future
curled and still inside of me,
all-knowing and unpursued;
mocked by familiar secrets
and inhaling tides of light,
i hover gently, with a hundred suns
igniting on the inside of my eyelids.

i can smell your thoughts,
your flesh as fresh as rainwater,
and then as smooth and warm
as chocolate in the softness of the mouth.

i gaze into your mystery
and your eyes stare back.

love lifts me on its current
and turns me like a leaf;
i sway with gratitude,
i writhe in budding selflessness,
i improvise toccatas on the surface of your spirit;
you blind my mouth with your mouth,
give your depths to my hands,
close my eyes with your sighs,
bless my ears with your breath.

and so we worship on,
in deep and sonorous caves,
and night breaks over us like a slow wave.

© Matt Hetherington 2005.

When It's Finished

we sit in our chairs in a too-brown room;
there has been no sun for days,
the phone is off the hook again,
the dirty laundry is piling up,
and the bathroom pipes are choking on hair.

i can no longer be calm.

my mind spins as fast as the world spins;
i canít speak of it anymore, but my heart is a rotten box.
thereís not much to be said now anyway,
and she is saying it repeatedly.

we shared this house once, but now itís hers again;

i have the haven of my bed,
and sometimes even of my room,
so what the fuck do i care ?

itís all the anger i canít take Ė

her screaming and her sobbing and her howls of pain;
she haunts her own house like a vengeful ghost,
and in the quiet of the night i often hear weeping
which isnít even happening.

iíve tried to justify the distance of my loneliness,

but her eyes Ė theyíre two crooked black holes of impatience,
and her mouth is a bitter slit.
i canít look. i canít speak.
i donít know what to do.

© Matt Hetherington 2005.

New Mornings

a poem on blue paper
for the one i am coming to love
more deeply than the dark heart
of the dilated night
before it opens its great eye

first thing when waking
her soothing warmth
all around me like a scented bath
her patient silence
before the day begins to groan & stretch

then her smiling upon me
so that i may also smile
& the room fills with the world
& an ease i cannot speak
& must write

© Matt Hetherington 2005.

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