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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
she migrates the long, thin pole around the recycling dumpster. Beer bottles clink, aluminium cans become metal kebabs ... on the road: her set eyes read the worlds of nature — the sky as upturned colander, shaking droplets of rain.
Since furniture regained its proper size .. and animals ceased to speak .. since teapots evicted rodents .. and the Queen became so very nice .. I find myself looking back ... Everything now is normaler and normaler
Some volcanoes are dead bigtime .. Be careful: Don't go near them .. They spit
as she lies there, somehow she feels time creeping — some inchoate sense, sense of the Grim Reaper reaping with his scathing scythe, or Father Time with a sieve ...
mapping the cobbled Parisian dawn .. in search of juxtaposition .. stairways, upturned street vendors' carts .. unglamorous prostitutes, pedlars .. the stillness of odd, aged architecture .. angles, spaces awash with light
They change the sky but not their soul who run .. across the sea: the impartial earth .. gapes for the child of a pauper as for a princeling ... (For Peter Porter)
Feed and clothe this Australian poet and lodge him in a library attached to a music venue, and remarkable things would happen. He made of London a country of the mind, its vices, virtues, constant features and mutability there to be inspected and eventually portrayed.
The same delusion that made us rich .. leaves a Hungry by the doors .. By comparison the 'wealthy' ones, Australian with homes .. on the market, no offers .. bereft in Bankstown .. wails in Warrimoo .. People are and want good.
The old people in the mortuary silence of the doctor’s waiting room, rehearse the look, the patois, become familiar with the creeping symptoms, the medicines of resistance, the gentle small steps on the way.
Lift up a stone, find a spider, fat as a grape ... Run, and I will be tucked up in the heel of your shoe, gnawing at the lining.
He walked with his back hunched, his lowered head inches above his toes. As if he feared cavities or his own anonymity. That black dog stopping at every fence post.
As angels of innocence cast .. Imperfect shadows .. God idioms are intoned .. Perfunctory .. As morning ablutions .. Disciples invoking pacts of compromise .. Offering souls and solutions .. Silent in their conspiracy
181-192 out of 200 results.