26.0: INNOCENCE
Paul Mitchell: A Series of Good Investments
He sits with his thumbs in knots a sparrow nestled in his stomach rolls no need now for further talk of flight or the lack therof, no need for further, distance or any departure time, long distance call or marker. …
Paul Mitchell: Dear Dad
Dear Dad Check this link … http://toldyouIdgetbackatyoupsychoanalyticallyformum.com Love Siggy >Notice – This memory contains paranoia and counter-transference insights >intended only for the intrusive use of the anaclitic named above. If you >are not the intended regression of this …
Nathan Shepherdson: thoughts that wouldn’t choose to think of themselves again
0.07792208 that i didn't realise that you didn't realise did you realise this 0.16233767 and letting go of your hand i realised that you had no hand 0.25324677 i never realised how difficult it would be to register sleep as …
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffMichael Farrell: the j letter
the deity hangs in the air taking up & allowing all the space there note to future note to past the page is the poem & the poem a defence the press will set this in what ever fashion they …
Michael Farrell: boyhood
grown & overgrown shrink. folding bear collapses under its own weight. under living of night putting on bling & preparing one thing then another eating their brains up. doke is it. satans waynebow. my boyhood among the outlaws. keep the …
Lorin Ford: Variations on six innocent lines
The way to Blake is to open the door for Chaucer Spring the bawdy house. That'll bring 'em on-scent. I am a woman. Refer to them as slip-ons, Dear, not brothel-creepers. Mirror balls. Multi-focal lenses. Stalked by an apogee. …
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffLee Kofman: Visotsky in The Men's Gallery
I heard some Russian poets have been recently resurrected. Visotsky ended up being resurrected in Melbourne, in a bar called The Men's Gallery. Naturally, he asked for vodka. The young bartender with the fountain of spiky hair enquired whether he …
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffLee Kofman: Sylvia in the Psych Ward
Writes poetry about her cat Because she has no one else to write about Tends to stray dogs Because humans bite Feeds a bird Barks at her doctor: No more medications! They're made of animal fat
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffLee Kofman: Suggestions for a girls’ school curriculum
It should be taught how not to choose your lovers. Lesson number one: beware of men who go days without kissing you with their tongue, saying they have intimacy problems. Then they kiss you for hours, wounding your lips, wearing …
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffLee Kofman: In a shower
Nowadays, when I do not make love, I often lose my body. In a shower my gaze slips. I feel shy noticing I have a pink, fleshy arse.
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffLee Kofman: Every Woman Needs a Jewish Husband
Look at my mother. She has this talent for dismissing hundreds of years of desire. She lifts her hand, dripping fat and kindness. Shakespeare, Schmakespeare, she says. What this Julia really needs is to find a faithful, Jewish husband.
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffKate Schapira: The Saint of Magnets
palms magnets and names rise to plastic, letting boys know they've been there. Confidence is turquoise and red upholds smiling, boys in uniform, grown boys, cut-out and glitter shapes boys hands. Empty magnets gap their amalgam mouths. Uniforms mark …
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffJohn West: Dreaming of Dead Horses
You think you have suffered then a girl you know her mother she says had fifty years hard drinking now she hears phones ring in loaves of bread the woman in the next room (a world champion wrestler) is employed …
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffJohn Leonard: Among the Poets
Orioles still sing, and the leaves fall – Li Bo is stepping from a boat. Edward Thomas tends to brood, but Ho Xuan Hong has done with that. Emily Dickinson leaves punctuation, society, Alone; what are they – to love? …
Posted in 26.0: INNOCENCE Comments OffJoel Magarey: The Australian Males Rules American Football Dream
I'm running. I have the ball. I hold it close to my chest. It's mine. I think I know what it is. I think I know where I'm running. I think I'm running towards the touchline. Tall long-haired women wearing …
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