Wake with a kiss on your lips. The sun steps down through trees. You sit in the corner of my eye all morning, working on something.
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
Days later, not long after we left the convent, the war ended. I promised to take her directly to the train station, but the sight of her on the back seat scrambling out of that uniform,
The workers specialize according to their age. At first they feed the queen her royal jelly and then they nurse the larvae in their combs.
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
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