Permanent ink was something I’d look for
in black, fine-tipped felt at the stationer.
I loved the tactile engagement
between pen and textured paper.

It may have been the same desire
that led to my skin being worked into art.
It was the drawn-out end of love
and you were gone. I wanted the pain

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The Owl

Anthony Lawrence

Summer 2013

Embrace Australia’s finest writers

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Embrace Australia’s finest writers

Poetry

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