the city of literature has become the city of death

to think

of all those times

after readings
or slams
or launches:

gatherings

we stood alone
for half hours
on inner melbourne streets

well lit / we were thinking
pfffft
now we know well lit
doesn’t mean a damn thing
flagging down cabs
on night-lived brunswick streets

after leaving
red wheelbarrow
noise bar
brunswick hotel

after leaving

too many times
mics
and words ago
to count

yesterday
twenty thousand people
marched down sydney road
sobbing to camera crews
we women
should be able to walk
down any street on earth
alone

as if the very concept of it
was absolute news

on this morning’s melbourne streets
there is too much solidarity
and grief

for one city to withstand
sensibly

a woman
raped and killed
steps
seconds
minutes
dashes
breaths
screams

from where we write
and hold our mics

the city of literature
has become
the city of death

and there is nothing

nothing left
but to write ourselves in
to this whole

tragic mess