CONTRIBUTORS

Barnaby Smith

Barnaby Smith is a poet, critic, journalist and musician living on Darug and Gundungurra land in New South Wales, Australia. Recent work has appeared in journals such as Stand, Blackbox Manifold, 3AM, Erbacce, Orbis, Tentacular, Molly Bloom and Blaze Vox, as well as Cordite, Southerly, Australian Poetry Journal, Australian Poetry Anthology, Best Australian Poems, and more. He is an award-winning art and music critic, and records music under the name Brigadoon, having released the album, Itch Factor, in 2020.

http://www.brigadoon.bandcamp.com

Passing

time on the same earth as Ingrid Bergman: 143 days 12 hours 30 minutes 39.32 per cent of 1982 what audacity of that naked hello, just needing someone to dictate the mood anything i could do for her is in …

Posted in 111: BABY | Tagged

the village waves

pock marked etfuls of crypto grams currency can’t pro create ceed along bo ring ulevards & num skull bers won’t fla grant vour the build up ings with however many in denture dexes thaw arc hived tic snaps & flo …

Posted in 106: OPEN | Tagged

Brackish Morning

the compass is an untrue weapon enveloped in blustery effect whisper the warning one campsite at a time on leaving – trusting this ambrosial decree as a tap on the womb, the nacreous valley with its simpatico trill bleating rain …

Posted in 82: LAND | Tagged

affirmation of becoming

common idiotic ibis observing vertigo picnics on the dunes sloping long weekends for trends in decomposition an aerial shot: three-eyed houses infused with tendrils grasping busy silence chanted goaded plastic still lives into persons or personhood

Posted in 75: FUTURE MACHINES | Tagged

Offshore

11.53pm, Crackneck Point, Bateau Bay tankers queuing up and down the coastline sparkling in their sleep they are compulsory distances apart the scene, what we have decided is sorrow as bruising clouds hover offshore compelled by stage directions: sound of …

Posted in 60: SILENCE | Tagged

Studio Portrait

Strewn with commissions and nibbles of DNA this is where everyone else’s attention falls. With such frowsy deformities sits one throwing rhythm to colour words into the mirror defiant and horny at the offensive knowledge of the canvas.

Posted in 59: GONDWANALAND | Tagged