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What should you expect (preview of two of
Kalamata Rose's pages):
One afternoon, after a morning of intense nose picking,
Where I rolled the snot, and Kalamata Rose did the flicking,
We decided that we wanted to try something new,
And it was of course Kalamata Rose who came up with the idea to make
a bug and worm stew,
We spent a few hours foraging in the flora for the fauna that would make
up our casserole,
And our diligence was rewarded by a mother load of critters that filled
a large plastic bowl,
We squished and squashed the bugs and worms to make our tasty stew,
Then ate big spoonfuls of the gourmet meal until Kalamata Rose had a
spew.
Kalamata Rose’s room is painted black with ink, glitter glue and gloom,
A keep out sign is pasted on the door to warn others of their impending
doom,
In that dark hovel of a mess she sits and plays with headless toys,
She shovels grit and clay into endless sculptures of the neighbourhoods
girls and boys,
She draws awesome pictures of the animal kingdom in throes of death and
hierarchy,
And paints pages of animals with peoples heads in acts of greed, consumerism,
and anarchy,
She listens to ambient music while writing poetry and prose,
And some times she just sits there and thinks things, after all, she
is Kalamata Rose.
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