Across three fences the lights and noise of a party at anchor; a paddock dusty with stars; our lit-up talk forgettable.
did it come in the bark of a dog in the eucalypt air, the marsupial faces tilted, listening, or the ghostly skin and the foreign hair,
A lucky rain misted the far hills to fresco
In back wards, sea spray thinning ash as the city turned from itself, the ocean which brought it, faces off
I’m stiff as a board, bored stiff with living like this, with this being half-crippled and adrift like the ancients in the hospice.
VQR hosts a panel to discuss the emerging medium of multimedia poetry.
They stitched their lives into the days,Hawkesbury fishermen, with a smokestuck to their bottom-lips, bent
[…]
Tailing Dam stands tall, Mine Lake hangs high. At dike’s end stand a few grasses, snake-like.
Something in a locomotive, that black-clad traffic’s rush, something in the silver-tinted background: always that tally of progress & catastrophe, engines wrecked
After his friends rigged a pulley and lowered the pack
