30.0: CUSTOM

Poetry guest edited by David Prater

The European Manner of Crossing Legs

The money spider crosses a hand. You shut the door and open up the secret drawer, so hefty and loud your knees pop. We're beginning our descent into barbarism: sorry, it's conclusive since the windows filled with milk and the …

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Basket Case

Every day Abba Paul plaited a new basket,

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near accidents

'oh no! it hurts!' Richard Hell there'll be no billy ocean until we meet inside the radio on albany highway a bee once stung me on the nipple there it was classically trained in techniques of surprise / and exited …

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Trimmed Wings

From my father I got Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple and Joplin. I found them shrunk with the cold, dusted on his writing desk underneath old newspapers, bills, blunt pencils, inkless pens, accounts of unrealised genius and corpses of cockroaches. He …

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in the yoga class, breathing Ardha Padmasana, my rusted shoulders don't florally grace half lotus green thumbs agree Dan's brittle lemon tree can't resist superannuants bracing the Wall Street crisis and stiff winds crossed legs unlatch reluctant joints I bend …

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Mother and Dead Son

(Inspired by 'A monument to war', sculpture by Kathe Kollwitz, Berlin)     i.   He'd hated her old handbag and how she carried it. He'd idle behind, watching her shoulders move solidly through public streets carrying the bag he'd …

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Book Learning

This Berryman's a moralistic thing: its jacket has been lit, man rolled back to ma and shot with liverspots like extra moons or doctored film of UFOs – blinked, I think, by a student in the bath who, before Returns, …

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On Reading Mr Wittgenstein’s Lion

Every landscape painting is a left eye's worth of a stereoscopic image. There's no comparison. Sight has its own methodology. Hearing too. If a picture could talk we could not understand it. This, though black & white TV returned me …

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someone's shout become an accent on elocution lip-reading at the bar – 'is repetition still itself?' gazing at the décor a glass too tall for its short straw if faces trickle in a peck on the cheek in duplicate and …

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‘dream destinations’

what wakes me some outside blast of glass waste banking up like a valle d'aosta autostrada in deepest nebbia. terminal shift audio setting unavailable for comment, the year turns a page – cities edged maple lemon nearly all green thought …

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Blue Trees

after Stephen Haley's Forest (2008)     In a forest of blue trees it's easy to feel lost. Yet calling which way now Hansel would be purely rhetorical; if a path leads out of these trees it begins & ends …

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Poem Reviews Poet

When he reads me, I'm reading him, each line along his brow, the spaces between breaths. He's a mystery. Those eyes that shift from left to right hide as much as they reveal. Someone imagined him, gave him grammar of …

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