Ashley Capes

at exactly 9pm

do all corner shops have to die with peeling skin and rusted chairs, shadows where Christmas lights once rested and spread magic for ice-cream, car-ride-kids? I am convinced the new moon was shot there like a bullet streaking through clouds …

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I am more empty than something sucked dry by a man lost thirty days in a desert and now found I feel the leg hairs of ants on my temples and they knock and wait for someone to open the …

Posted in 33.0: CREATIVE COMMONS | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Death of Poetry in Australian Classrooms

In 1982 Neil Postman first noted that the concept of childhood was disappearing in his book, The Disappearance of Childhood. It's highly unlikely that we'll be saying anything new if we claim that poetry is disappearing from the classroom. And though it is, and has been doing so for decades, poetry itself survives. It's just going to other places. To the small press, to cafes, to cyberspace, even to public transport. Perhaps, if we want poetry to be heard and read in other places too, our society needs to bring it back to schools.

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Man About Town

who turns up to every party late and slow and seeks the bar with an ant eater for a face who shakes but does not dance who barely keeps sentences together but instead leaves them spread out between mouths like …

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like knots on top of each other

folded fullmoon just looking at the roof – he will draw yet another telephone. our tongues are maple syrup now or unripe pineapple. I think I should smoke, domesticate a brown pelican. white paint is medicine but locomotive wind it …

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you have that white chocolate guilt, where it isn't chocolate at all – but something you've mixed together from other things things stolen kigos from the Edo period Bruce Lee's arms at 32 fps crazy dumsaint and Barthes' kleenex box …

Posted in 30.0: CUSTOM | Tagged | Comments Off on cook