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Edition 49



They don’t explain. They don’t connect.

They don’t mean what they say. They don’t say what they mean. They don’t tell you the whole story. They won’t tell you who they are. They make you imagine them so you cannot imagine any others.

Much has been lost. Much has been lost.

In likeness. In precedence. In ranks. In files. In smiles. In frame.

Kidney is bean. Sunshine is lady. Chickpeas peck on peachicks. Aren’t they only doing their duty?

From love gaze to hate stare, how is it that unfamiliar is always sacrificed at the altar of overfamiliar?

If you candlelight moonlight, you might as well moonlight candlelight. Sometimes, they are way off – you’d better take a taxi to catch them.

Bastards! After gate-crashing your funeral, they don’t return your call.

When they finally ring a bell, you don’t know where to place them. They have network problems. They are synthetic. They don’t stand the cold. Even in the silt season, they don’t yield much.

Be careful with metaphors.

Whatever they give you with one hand, they take back with another. 

From Griffith Review Edition 49: New Asia Now © Copyright Griffith University & the author.

Griffith Review