Me and my boys were going down to Jubilee Park to throw rocks at the light rails when we met a bridge troll.

The thrill of thievery.

On Lavender Bay's open secret.

For most of my life, August was Summer’s eleventh hour.

On clutter and holding onto the past.

A strange long year is coming to an end

A strange sketch

A friendship that was meant to last

the agony of doing your readings

A poem on human traffic at university