My fridge has no story as it's deaf, dumb and mute. And it's blind in one eye and can't see in the other 'and human kindness is overflowing'.

Crashing heavy metal rocks

Sucks me in and makes me cough

Rocks my boots

Into my socks

A boy had a dinosaur named Rex

He wondered how it would have sex

So he asked his mother

Then queried his brother

And wondered who to ask next

Compote of fruit

Coffee to suit

No conversation

Devastation

What are we doing?

No hope of brewing.

Medication dulls the brain,

And is no good for the system

We must accept humanity, freedom, love

And subjective reality

A creative society

Friendships with people

We are writers and we are good.

The earth having been baked in the late summer fire gave up its heat to the soft rain until, in return, the trees burnt their leaves in a symbol of rest to flutter down in chilling, sometimes soft wind.

Old federation houses turned into segmented units. A suburb of yuppies and disillusioned poor people. The poor being squeezed into boarding houses by increasing land value. St Kilda is a place of huge contrasts - people pretentiously sipping cafe lattes on the sidewalk as old Joe, the squatter, shuffles by picking up cigarette butts. I live in St Kilda and fit between shuffling Joe and Yuppsville, my heart with the squatter. Trams, sea smells, crisis centres, oh and the Drop In. Do drop in and say 'hello' sometime. We all call St Kilda home.