Poet and Musician Barnaby Smith



beckoned over,



& begin

orgies            in the corner

                      of his eye—             

he is getting to know

blood & thought & skin


something to grab a handful of


& big evenings


figures passing through


as vanishing pixelations—


of today’s burning hair

still in nostrils

betraying a

                       body leaking

like roadkill

we saw at dusk

splayed & sublime


avenues asleep

always full of nests

                       dimmed under full skies


                       quilted catastrophes

behind blinds are our



under the bed—

& in the soft cladding of

                  night walks with streetlight


                  scratched red mailboxes

& turning back to

the house that talks itself

                       into being

your shrimpish frame

unmoved until who

knows what


together indexing paddocks

as sites of action

in fallen winter sun

towards a manifesto

of clutter & commune,

the quarter-acre fluxus

event, our laboratory for

land flattening, mystical in the

dark air with elegant foreign

accents & egrets, attentive

agents arranging the scene

for new visitors stopping for a

sunset, assembled as totems on

dry and heavy landlocked hills,

persuaded the view is clean

About the contributor

Barnaby Smith is a poet, journalist and musician from Sydney. Poetry has appeared in Cordite, Southerly, FourW, Foam:e, and others. His arts and music criticism has appeared in or at Rolling Stone, The Guardian, Australian Book Review, and others. He records music as Brigadoon. www.brigadoon.bandcamp.com

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