Glenn McPherson
soon I will check for mail next door a couple fighting guitar strings sounding now summer clouds returning without colour
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The Incinerator Poem
by GLENN MCPHERSON Three lousy pumpkins off three vines, for winter. Smoke won’t make up its mind. This morning We found a waterhole no-one has drowned In yet. There was a flat stone that the poor-man Who sleeps rough, further…
Arthur River
by GLENN MCPHERSON When bones Wash up On rocks, At the world’s edge There are distances We are Without. Dolerite- Headed thoughts Have stood here So long, unuttered. Fire does not move The way wind Moves ocean Where a dancing…