POETRY



Berlin

i. Tonight you sleep and dream of me all the greenest grass in this world, this memory of breath like mist on my lips you cannot touch. Your fingers searching in thin air a trace of flesh and a faraway …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

From Television

after A. R. Ammons 24 when dystopia arrives, all the world is sick: television relishes the sickness, the teens, who plummet back to an earth they expect to be irradiated—and it is: yes, earth has bloomed new terrors, survivors who …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

an image of the madonna to some

cursing past and the present (on the stairs, i’d restrain— wu wen ji if you can hear me from heaven come down so i can send you to hell home— feedback loop of drowning one slammed door to blackout natural …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

you are turned a someone

(an internet performance of Paul Celan’s Streak) This is a safe space for your cat-eye troubles: if you are having strange experiences you cannot explain, it is possible you are having a psychotic episode a fish comprehending water for the …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

A portrait of myself as an artist

For Chloe i. I’m in these mountains alone, bar the magpies and my own stray thoughts. Cigarette burns are stitched into the wood of my table, marking the days between each bad decision; we know their names better than our …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

The Blurst Bitch

It is a truth universally acknowledged That a single man in possession of a good fortune Must be in want of a dumb bitch bride Jane Austen sort of wrote that And then I wrote it down I’m the queen …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

Lovely Windows

Broad sand flats, crows and gulls on the verge, white lines in the sky; on the other side, past Flat Holm island, Cardiff; no border, just a sign in both English and Welsh, on our way to Swansea. Wet, mist …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

The Black Cockatoos

On photographs by Leila Jeffreys As if, surely, they recognise her joy in them, wear it welcomingly on their own gaze, they create, with her, a mutual stillness. Then her finger moves. Some carry stories, cryptically hidden but present, of …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

Recycled

We worry about the weather, and whether or not we can make a difference, sorting our recycling in the dark. The floods have become so commonplace that they don’t make the news unless a bus is swept away or a …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

Waiting for the Byron Train

Waiting on the southbound platform in still humid air, for the long journey home, half-listening to buskers, bands blasting out from a nearby pub, you keep a close eye on checked-in luggage, wheeled out in a trolley, now unattended the …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

Security camera roosting

(after Ted Hughes) I sit under the eaves of buildings, my eyes open. no falsifying dream between my straight tail and straight brain. no sleep to delay me, I rewind the day’s play and zero in on the city’s fringe-dwellers. …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged

fiction is necessary

but, upside down in the dark, all the lyrics have fallen to the bottom of the box. turned, back to the dark ocean, the strange wet lap of the beach, and, as I risk vertigo, riding a warm updraft to …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged