It’s eleven-thirty at night and I’m on a train speeding away from Circular Quay, sobbing quietly and pathetically into a packet of chocolates.
By Annabel Moore Regardless of where you align yourself on the political spectrum, the seismic shift of the global landscape of 2016 towards uncertainty cannot be denied. What appeared to be
Intimate distance Zalehah Turner a space lies between words, a light pause ambivalent and hoveringa breath in lips, half open half closed like eyes crusted with dream sleep in spin cycleliminal loop wholes turning taciturn corners in the blink of an I until breathless two become one tongue-tied,
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