He was an example of anti-nominal determinism, though he was friendly in manner, kindly explaining that my light headedness
In some last inventory, I’ll have lost a season, through the occlusion of summer by another hemisphere.
I breathe the leaves of the basil It has news for me— For all my senses
Alec, I said you’d be around by stratagem or shift looking for a lift to the somewhere burial ground
Like wallabies we hurtle This way and that Unworried whether the world Be round or flat.
A yacht lies down in my window, on the harbour the dusk has come.
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.
