5/7/2023 0 Comments Truth by Peter TempleShe serves him over ice, garnishes him with lime wedges. Their chests are heaving, pining for life in the shadowed belly of the clammy wet. Who pours poems on blood-spattered floors? Sonnets lie in a black pond smelling of copper right here in the suburb of Altona, behind the city of Melbourne’s West Gate Bridge. She’s pleased with his bending, his crossing incognito. She slips off her sarong, opens her palate to the seduction of his eccentricity. That is when you find the scrawl of a note to self, scratched on a wall: Notwithstanding the bloodshed, a crossover novel will take you to supreme calm. Will tell you about spikes in elective surgery to resuscitate dying professions, where to find the best portions of idiocy in elected officials, when to cancel your sanity insurance, how to hack what’s behind the precipitous number of infections, what’s best as a guide for panic buying.
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