Published in Overland Issue 227 Winter 2017 · Uncategorized Spotless Luke Beesley To try and write say like Mallarmé ah malted tie anodyne or write it. I had a notice envelope inside and I went into the kit. The bag had an antidote to my own, or own poem, which was pronounced ownp. Ownp up an unlatch in tea, int an assertion. I went up to it. Parked. The quarter poked out. I played embarrassed Joel Barish in that garish genre Montauk cop character and gaudy. Twofold chalked up Twombly touched a back step on Sol LeWitt photography. Secretly new noticed. Entities. At a quarter past three I went. Ahem. A religious repetition. 4/10 of an anecdote intended, the rest a consequence interred troubled dream. Folding chair quantity. Endangered try. (We do dupe.) In the third person wore a coat in weather. Aunt. We go into the ligament of a family brush. Her out couch cushion! Image: Quarter drop / Andrew Malone Read the rest of Overland 227 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Luke Beesley Luke Beesley is a Melbourne-based poet. His fourth poetry collection, Jam Sticky Vision, was published by Giramondo in 2015. More by Luke Beesley Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays First published in Overland Issue 228 1 June 20231 June 2023 · Politics Turning peaceful protesters into criminals—again Evan Smith So the Summary Offences (Obstruction of Public Places) Bill 2023 has been passed by South Australia’s Legislative Assembly and will become law. Fifteen hours of debate in the upper house, led by the Greens and SA Best, could not overturn the bill that was reportedly rushed through the lower house in just twenty-two minutes a fortnight ago. First published in Overland Issue 228 31 May 202331 May 2023 · Film In Memoriam: Kenneth Anger’s cinematic incantations Eloise Ross ‘Making a movie is casting a spell,’ said Kenneth Anger about his lifelong profession, his unique and spectacular talent, his very own dark magic. That certainly describes how I was lured into his realm. There was a time in my life where I would watch Anger’s seven-minute film Rabbit’s Moon basically on repeat, infatuated by its blue-tinted images of a sprightly harlequin dancing around a clearing and calling silently to the moon. It was poetry.
