Ripley

Editor back-issues, poetry

But did he find the tribespat out of rockbelow the cousin cloudswith sounding conch shellsbetween their ears?They feed on everything:metals, birdsong, saffron,until what’s out and inseem twin and onelike the dance of  lesserand greater dreamtime.Social as termites,they raise tower upontower, projectinga blind, spiral god;vicious as hornets,they cultivate venoms andenemies to die of them.There’s less bloodpainting and head polothan their fathers…

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