Poetry We are loose now.  We peel our skin veil by veil to what lasts longer. To the pulse of rib  and knee and knuckle we step into death looser, stronger. We are free now.  We take each step away...

GR Online A poem…can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the – not always greatly hopeful – belief that somewhere and sometime it could wash up on land, on heartland perhaps. Poems in this sense, too, are under...

Poetry                           Like the hawk of fabric shears, cockatoo calls cut raucous through sheets of white sky –  the sole sound as I walk where they chomp on bottlebrush,  rip through callistemon, flower the...