As another Spring begins, the bird’s
brain cells bloom. New songs.
Fingerprints return after the hand is burnt.
Who knows what we’re capable of?
I part the vertical ocean of clothes
and find you there. Spider,
it is almost terrifying to me – suspended
only by the work of your own body.
Too often, I surface with handfuls of air,
thinking the connecting threads were within.
37.0: NO THEME!Poetry Editor: Alan Wearne
Released: 1 February 2012
Index of poems
Cover image: Maxine Clarke
Well, the people have spoken: after a decade of themed issues, we've turned the tables on ourselves and opted for an issue with no theme whatsoever. It's awn!