Sonnet

By | 1 May 2020
My young domestic lifeline came to sit

exhausted, by the ashes of its lot

for what these boys so bravely now commit

when life itself is grounded in their rot?

           If I would be the guillotine, its rungs

the head of Richard Spencer cold, shoved in

the microwave as testament to none,

his resolute interior, the pin:

To stretch the dried up soul into its frame

          wafting paradichlorobenzene

his molded face and maggot mouth regained

let out in one last slip to feel obscene.

All gains in this lush meadow held my head:

Will summer’s fragrance block their throats instead?
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Verity Spott was born in the middle of England, lived there, moved to the south of England and stayed there. Runs Iodine Press. Also co-runs (with Chris Buckley) the Horseplay event, which takes place on the last Thursday of the month. Veich also runs occasional events: Dym, Dym X, PW4 and Kissing His Boyfriend's Eyelids. Voc ventures into music with Four Manatees, Binnsclagg, Olympus Sub, Benzo Fury, Xenoglossic Hypostases Hawk Hissed Roar, all of which can be searched for on the Internet and heard / watched. Books include Effort to No, Dear Nothing and No One In It (with Jonny Liron), Illuminate This! and the forthcoming Balconette. Poems, texts and pictures have been tastelessly pasted into publications including Materials, Hi Zero, The Claudius App, Litmus, Romulan Soup Woman, Sussex Guild of Poetry, Splinter, UnAmerican Activities, No1 Fake and Supernormal.

http://twotornhalves.blogspot.co.uk/

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