Thursday, January 3, 2013


In this quaint little lane in the middle of town where ponderous writers meet, and beyond the simulacrum of readings, no one follows like the sound of Morse code. We are new to the scene and guileless, yet the aim is high; as high as saints in posthumous books. The senses move in a continuous stream of countenances down alleyways with the volume up. Red and green lights unite with forks, a single instrument is a brave submariner. You peruse the shops for shoes and clothes, ponder the waterwheels of bangles, Babushkas in stacked markers of dare. You follow the graphite tables to books with eyes and ears extended beyond your reach. Taste is the smooth oak blend of red wine, some sparse chicken and bread. You stop between the slow collision of nine-to-fivers, students in avatar dress. It’s alien but friendly in Little Flinders Lane, where walkways and buildings curve out of sight and One Hundred Years of Solitude is the type of book you want to buy.



Published by Australian Poetry Centre, Melbourne

of Arc & Shadow

of Arc & Shadow
Published by Sunline Press, WA

The Joyous Lake

Par écrit

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