Beyond the peace that flowed from her rest
Is an early morning room, with her eyes open,
Looking up into the tepid sunlight directly above her face.
A cold place, an ocean of calm, wretched wrecking pain.
Here is Barbara Fountain She is a culture shock Moderately over-easy like many other breakfast flings She slings the magazine away And leaves the coffee, standing cold and objectionable Then she exits the building Rocking and rolling Hippity hopping Skitting and scatting Slitting down to the docks for work to come.
I’ve decided to illustrate my poems today with Sydney Nolan’s portrait of Australian poet and cultural icon Ern Malley…
Empty news goes on and on, my dead child Causes pain. She does not laugh. She is no angel. Those who head back into work out of work speeches convince Those speeches down the Hall Down to the grass courts out of the courtesies It is background It is down to the candy floss Up …
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