after darwin muggylessheatfueled goodrendang reading slamdunked into sixam kingsford roomfree
exoticism of european literature theblackman rushdiepal nodding yesyesitisthusly
howardoverpizza politics presigned booklauchterlaugh politeness youreinchinatownsurelyoucanfindsomeonetotalkto allergy
birrabirragal dunbar flowered foreveryoungjohnnyloved gap driveon o bronte range is the new depth
big les bellychortled waterspills the crowd winelicking from his paws loves the candlenickingfromthenuns fatboy tale aworkofgenius
bangarra bangra found aubade lipsigh oysters the tomyam of poetry
ii. Byron Bay
Where the heart opens there are forests of gum and palm and sea almond parting into sea and a lighthouse warns of hope: Harbour may be near. Warm beds, welcome company, undemanding suppers served on time without suspicious glances. The back of an arched shore, supple curve of seabirds thrown against the blue current and loving the dash, the thrill, the bracing dance among a wheeling flock, and never once alone. New patterns among the driftwood spell out surrender. There is room for silence. Every step a giving up to time the meaning of a step by refusing closure. Out there is another field, beyond ideas of trespass and leisure, just past the parked cars and holiday homes, the secret island. There are snakes in the grass, not deadly, and there are spiders among the ruined webs. A path is found because others follow and then one day the rain makes sense.