How vulnerable the body's archive
reproduction and memory
a banner juts out
a banner juts out
pure vector
two or three mediocre feelings
inscrutable
protesters and their certainty and their tough white crosses
what life is like
scabrous raked-over pine
witches hats in bleached or shaded settings
place attaching to symptoms–––is this bias?
is
is
movement like air it's how we live
*
clouds floating on windscreens
one-liners
I'm interested in that
no airflow
apology no airflow
Would you try again? Or give up? no airflow
Ask for help?
Give and give? no airflow
*
altered foliage
living memory, impression
realm
seems disinterested
across but never to: tentatively perceived
housing
aptitude––asset
the light eagling decades
END
palms
effort
it happened, you were there
landslip, roaming, a detour
*
the person of the place / everyone we knew /
abetting / from here / flat country
invigilation
of the public
bitumen
inland, scrubby, day day day
turn back
reports of an assailant
turn backs
selection criteria
fate
the wrong way
recycling
that memory
distractible
2000s
crime air
*
double dream spring
spring
warming
bump––bloom
as if you were born an angel
watcher
reader
this belief what life is like
temporary
something new is getting started; bureaucratic (unpeopled)
and so clean
Emily Stewart lives and works on Wangal land. She is the author of
Knocks (Vagabond Press, 2016) and her forthcoming collection,
Running Time, received the 2021 Helen Anne Bell Award for an unpublished manuscript. Emily was formerly the poetry editor at Giramondo Publishing and she is currently completing a creative doctorate at the Writing and Society Research Centre.