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Edition 56

Contents
Poetry

Hey sweetheart, hey love

I

am a night-time walker, I

prefer dark, dark public

parks,

the sound of the bush splitting

a grin, baked earth beneath my

walker’s feet.

 

A night-time walker, I

prefer outskirts around my

walker’s knees, the sound of the silken breeze.

 

I, a night-time walker,

am a conduit for

remarks.

 

I am a night-time walker.

A matter-of-time walker. An

it’s-awful-but-she banshee

proffering blistering screams.

 

I –

a look-up walker, a lock-up

walker, a parcel of soft runnels

– am gunning my way home.

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From Griffith Review Edition 56: Millennials Strike Back © Copyright Griffith University & the author.

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