Poems
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Entrances North
By Fiona HileThe surf club car park is littered with empty
Muscle-testing image in the drum roll
tableau of sheets stripped of servitude. ‘Isn’t
there just a tiny bit of gravity in outer space?’ -
Distractions
By Liam FerneyI am hoping to kick a Facebook habit
but the monsters are scary and tomorrow
is too long to wait for an anxiety
as toxic as a tax the punters don't understand -
Insomnia
By Elizabeth CampbellFinally, on the seventh night, like a leaf
of the long blue gum, released
into a deep shade from its high tree
spinning slowly as it goes -
Supreme Abyss
By Michelle LeberIn the voice of Su Nu, courtesan of
The Yellow Emperor of China
At night, snowfall uncovers -
Capital Limp
By Tom LeeIn the smooth
Drains they emerge
And in the sun, they put
His cars, and his houses, they -
A Prayerflag from Dharamsala
By Michelle CahillI am dancing tonight in the Kangra valley.
Effigies of the demon king Ravan are ablaze
for Dussehra. Thorn bush dissipates in a flare.
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3am
By Andy KissaneAlong High Street, the window in the white Cortina
right down, the air rushing in, my foot on the accelerator
beating time to the electric fizz of Johnny B. Goode,
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Birds of Paradise
By Joel ScottLilac eruptions move upwards and
I can't help but think of us. This
is untraceable. Like moving backwards
by words in a phrase. On the return leg, -
several matters
By Derek Motionwater to watermark gap, canvas of the tree,
about two feet. toaster’s increased browning
capacity, a result of past usage. so clever.
i have frittered away my time. -
View from Hvolsvelli
By Corey WakelingThe frozen and the liquid. All its dialogue
in one white plume and one grey plume.
The corrugated vanity across Eyjafjallajökull's
mid-section is not rain-bearing cloud, but the old -
Holden HQ Wreck is Summers End
By Duncan Hosethe blue HQ @ Clifton Hill
like a warrior yes an octogenarian KRISNA
who’s dragged himself ashore from the river
tacho. punched in the dash, pink-drugged carpet -
Crossing the Hay Plains at Sunrise
By David Falconsky so coppery i can taste pennies
low lit by the sun
the plain stretches its rough gorse
to the edge of the world -
PHAEDRA HANGS OUT THE WASHING
By Kit Brookmanthe beauty of boys
in a morning-frost, white
skin running between white
sheets snagged by wooden -
X-2 Flare
By Bronwyn LangSpring Racing Carnival
wet streets: bright slick reflexive
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Crush
By Kate LilleyWhen I say that history was my favourite
I’m thinking less of the Weimar Republic
or the militarisation of Japan
than Miss R’s contralto discipline -
spanish fiction 2
By Michael Farrellwe were playing a mind game. but there
was a real
attraction. he was bookish,
unsuccessful; my secret -
Bats
By John TranterIn a freezing attic somewhere in Prague
a hungry songwriter invents Sincerity, but alas,
too early. A decade later, a popular singer,
struck by the intimacy a microphone fakes, -
Notes on the River 8
By Adam AitkenVoilà! Slums levelled, wharves, boat ramps,
central planning.
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Fetish Commodity
By Ali AlizadehI used to be brave. Emancipation
eludes me now. There’s nothing real
in what I get paid to do. Rhetoric