The rules of engagement are on the wane,

the game ceded to those wanting a name

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Bridges, branches, jetties, even the hazy bulk

Of an orange-bellied tanker

To me look amphibious, anything

Partly submerged in water

Like a fossil stretching its legs.

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Two figures, adrift

On alien waters

Direct us to the world of myth

Whereas one

Is merely tragic.

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There’s a body of evidence,

a shallow bay

he’s always visited.

Divining his preference

is as easy

as navigating calm waters.

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Your face is Australia, young and free.

A sweeping statement, boldly projecting

the image of uncomplicated symmetry.

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No steaks today.

The boys from Group Corporate Strategy

Have jaded tongues – their tender

Celebration calls for cheap cuts

And high-risk returns. Breathing

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East Side Gallery, Berlin

Everyone loves a redemption story. Hobart’s transformation from dowdy backwater to hipster hotspot has an almost biblical flavour, with the slightly dishevelled figure of David Walsh cast in the role of redeemer. It is largely due to Mona, the museum he funded off the back of gambling winnings, that Hobart experienced a boom. Artisanal, sustainable, boutique, biodynamic. The city’s size perfectly played into the trend, emerging as a desirable destination for moneyed mainlanders. The media heralded its apparent makeover with a flood of articles and travel features celebrating Hobart’s cultural scene. It was official. No longer the daggy cousin, Hobart had become Cool.

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