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A topless man shuffles into Coles. The Big Issue seller is liked and avoided. Buskers who specialize with the night, streetlights mooning the spaces that never close.
Shamed me with his arithmetic, built me a balance beam... Let me practise, practise, practise:My body weighted all its edges, open to his eyes, the air, the sun.
We, in the calm, fill out the story-line with the words that will go on living, thriving. And be fresh enough to heal the deep of wounds, when the blood at the front has run out and silence is a bone.
The bird that has no feathers mocks my language. Runs and flaps its wings at me but cannot fly. Throws land-things at me. We laugh like water, make corroboree in sky.
He carried no phone and sent no text. He had no email address, deleted no spam, recharged no devices, never backed up.
More than once I observed him walking from the Medley Building of the University of Melbourne to Newman College reading a book, not looking up. It was the book leading the human through the everyday world.
This place is bigger than any kingdom. It opens out, boundary-less, to everyone everywhere. It doesn't matter how many come, and the skateboarders will always get a seat at the banquet, where they will taste the wine and food, learn to sing with the host and rejoice in his good.
Jesus said 'G'day mate, why don'tcher try a cast off the point there, I had a few bites just now, reckon you'll catch a feed, at least. I'll get the billy on ...'
Fining people for swearing is silly. We can no more control what people say than we can hold the wind, or even a very large fart. Victoria's swear-fine laws are likely to be used either as threat or reality on those who can least afford the fine and cannot fight back.
extracted .. from a small black bag .. on a peak hour train .. Held sharp and confident as a new razor .. against the shunt and shuck .. of the carriage .. Throwback to industrial tortures .. held against the soft wet eye
now because of you kneeling .. beside me, thumbing the scarred leather .. of the little mass-book your grandmother .. hid at the back of her Protestant linen-press
I spot the odd ornamental shrub .. And even the occasional bird .. Though only sparrows, it seems .. Beloved of the Lord .. Survive this sterile affluence.
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