POETRY



Black May 1992, Bangkok

In Bangrak: glass towers, decapitated by smog; swallows flitting through the lattices of long-necked cranes; traffic lights semaphoring dumbly down miles of roads fuggy with the absence of cars. At Sanam Luang: tannoys blaring martial songs; the stuttering of guns; …

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Choristi

The graffiti furnishes an apparition of manacles, the metropolitan kapetanios, a heritage of desertion to the mountains. Here the enfilade gurgled in attic bodies, the Nazi tirade dislodged for the Commonwealth titter. Here the disciplined stance scoffed at outstretched arms …

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On the Level

Underground Suppose your Grandfather, metis in Trois Rivieres, when a man comes up from Providence saying: you can come down there’s work in the velvet factory: food and pay. Bring your boy. It’s better than the Jeffrey mine This is …

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Revolution or Catastrophe

I told myself / catastrophe / is a revolution too a sudden turn or overturning more like for whom more like what are the outcomes too I will write it down then call it revolution or catastrophe call upon the …

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Bravo

I There’s dust and black plastic instead of beach, the curled tongues of lizards washed up bubbles of air—the ticking shoreline. Some beads like scattered rosaries. There are diminutive shadows shaped as organs lying next to stars. Here, a heart …

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Kent State University—the Photograph

I am still half asleep when I stumble towards the fridge, take two oranges out of the crisper and find the sharp knife. I slice them in half, then press the skin down on the green glass dome, watching the …

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i wrote this poem while listening to Akon’s Sorry blame it on me and on seeing a notification from my phone about war and deaths

it’s afternoon// hot // hot like an imagined hell/ i roll under a table/ and there i make up countless dreams―/ birds unrolling from my corner/ full stop//there’s blood alert on my phone’s screen/ there’s blood sinking into the ground …

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Middle Finger

the middle finger on my granddad’s right hand was shorter than all the others as kids, we fantasised that he lost it in the war shot off and buried in desert sands but in fact it was an accident with …

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Improvisings. Of Sheer Now.

1: What I’ll Become I am assembled a history of what I’ll become Far off there are holdfasts cosmos winks, metal and darkness The mind is also a swirl needless opera The divine numbers are a gamble zero is a …

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Burial

Kneeling by the dry pond, her shins scratched pink are losing heat to space. Her knuckles blossom violet, their nobbled bodies flagrant; crude as mistakes. They are loaded dice as her ring slips off. This is how stones are made: …

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Gotta Eat

My colleague is feeding chopped up snakes to the snakes on the conveyor belt. Kind of insane, labour’s a redundancy, kindness really good insanity. Somewhere, the boss releases his spine for the first time. She picks up a fang and …

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Wake, [Anon]

i. Nam Phương final empress bore her lake oak-white jade continental. You are older than that. I turn history gold dream-fallen ash, therefore, public amaranth republic sweet of stem, crepuscular cosmology wept in dirty paws wrote of monkeys— ii. for …

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