They siphon ink from dusty pages and spray paint stages. At 2010’s Queensland Poetry Festival they were asked to leave before their show began so performed to the walls in the toilets. Most of the time they are engaged in fist fights with spellcheckers and can’t read their own righting. They spend their lives underlined by a small red squiggle.
Sometimes they are Waiting for the Ricochet. God knows, Eleanor is.