In 2008, Melbourne joined the UNESCO Creative Cities Network, when it was designated the first Australian City of Literature, and the second ever City of Literature in the world.
We are back with a special edition of poetry in Melbourne, just for you.
I follow the birth of fire through the wilds. The lacuna is lined with fable and milk. Bone marrow flowers in the howls.
gums in headlights mum drives home after many wines and one coffee
either poetry is back! again
or a malicious state-based actor launched a cyber attack
on australianpoetrys servers
It’s taken me years to realise greymatter
can harm just as much as any grassfire.
└── one-last-time └── the-networked-streets-float-in-liminal-space
I sing of broken shackles, leaving
overripened plains for dunes
There are countless articles online that say dreaming of emails springs from needing to contact ppl irl.
the modern office is post-cubicle / friday is losing its cultural relevance / if you’re never really ‘on’ you can never really be ‘off’
The more I say I write poetry, the less I express it, and so in a container of salted water, I saturate my pages for tomorrow’s absence.
Why do you want to be the best? Is that because you are a lack or there is a lack in you that you feel like filling up all the time? Even when you are named the best, does that mean anything?
