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Comments about Lisa Tomkinson
I’ve always called them memories,
There are not so many of them,
And not so many more remain,
Just images in a moving frame,
There are more than there used to be,
There is not a timeline to them,
But cushioned somehow, is the pain,
Marked how it is anyway,
The muffled recollection is,
And starkly lit the cold light of day,
I’ll numb for comfort now and again.
My best and most reliable friend,
A tonic, an intoxicating end,
Peace for a while at least,
Causality of those deceased.