A social site for poets in Sydney.
Rifling through carpenter’s pencils, screws,
Surplus washers, for enough shrapnel
To rent three meters or so of Glebe point road,
A stone throw from “The Bread Barn”
Their coffee dazzles my clay tongue.
Large metal birds turn up their noses above me
Casting shadows like clouds
Over a sequence of diminishing terraced roofs.
Soaking in the arrogance of an unsweetened frontage
A small weather beaten sign “The cornstalk.”
Drugged by a nostalgic smell of straw
Expounding from pre- satellite leather bound paper
A bookstore with its own microclimate
Of sun, shade wood and plaster
Every flat surface except an over sized goat track
Pressed pin drop silent against books and boxes
Up the back in the blue room, all you can hear
Is the sound of a dog barking softly from the inside of a tin can.
I raise my ears into the anonymity of a brown woolen beanie
Then perch my steel cap boots on the third run of a small wooden ladder
To get a crow’s nest view of all the poetry.
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