Author: Peta Edmonds

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The addict

    • Peta Edmonds
    • 29 August 2016
    1 Comment

    An addict shows me his rack of ribs, he's off to the slaughter house. An addict rubs his face like a brushed potato. The addict searches through bins looking for scraps of himself and his whims. An addict lives in a room at the weaver's loom, peddling his stories and drugs.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Home, alone and stoned

    • Peta Edmonds
    • 07 March 2016
    7 Comments

    I've run out of dope. This is my last ever toke of synthetic pot, I hope. There's synthetic people, but my heart drops like a coin into a homeless man's hat. The eternal night isn't very maternal. Of all those people sleeping on a concrete mattress under a black sky doona ... The homeless have faces like empty spaces. No solution to their heads in the pollution, and their feet in the gutter. The poor gather on the banks of the flowing street. The rain hits the roof in pain.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    In love with Sooty

    • Peta Edmonds
    • 17 March 2015
    10 Comments

    She waits for me to get home at night. She meows at the door, and when I return gets under my feet. Sooty has been one of the best things to come into my life. I get entranced by her eyes, and I'm in love with her softness. Now I don't talk to myself, I talk to her. One week, when I was so poor, I spent the last of my money on her, on cat toys and a can of cat food and chicken drumsticks.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Love is not rocket science

    • Peta Edmonds
    • 07 April 2014
    3 Comments

    You're hopeless, emotionally. You're like a box jellyfish that floats into my world, and stings me with silence. It's only love, it's not rocket science. That's why girls cut their wrists, because they wear their hearts there.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    A time when they shared their drugs

    • Susan Adams, Peta Edmonds and Lyn McCredden
    • 17 June 2013
    3 Comments

    A man swims back to you like a friendly dog. Asks you for spare change. He hasn't eaten since Thursday and it's Sunday now in the city. You empty your wallet of all its coins. $2.70. The city is heavenly, full of karma. A kid with a snake tattooed on his wrist gives you two cigarettes.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Sorry I was high

    • Peta Edmonds
    • 18 March 2013
    2 Comments

    On the corner, like an unloved spider, if you've got a cigarette, they've got the lighter. They're in love with all the Gods. They get along with their bong. For them the smoke is the Holy Ghost.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Untitled for a man

    • Peta Edmonds
    • 30 April 2006

    Poem by Peta Edmonds.

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