man
stands naked
on the platform
muscular
and hairy
shiny
taut
ready for our eyes
our charcoal
and our rubbers
man
stands naked
and there’s nothing
to it
strike your pencil
do it
capture life
furreal
and it is thrilling
this bold interface
without assessment
of him
of you
it is simply
art
imitation
of the action
of the heart.
not my city anymore o, Melbourne gone the Biting Eye Catcher Thumping Tum Sebastian’s Bertie’s Southern Cross bar jazz haunts folk dives...
different toilets in the night no guiding light strange bed wrong height no morning tea no toast no shower up at an ungodly hour...
saint’s day patron he of snakes and Guinness and green beer he’s as much my saint as snags on Sorry Day my man’s hey Jude champ of...
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