Eight headed hills sway to the mad saddle laughing. Kiss from stray strings, hooked to the hum of the porch. Knees and ears, fresh breath feathers, four legged tears. Owls spitting fire, bathing spinach fence pies. Tell me when it's time. Tell me how to leave.
29.0: PASTORAL
Poetry Editor Stuart CookeReleased December 2008
Index of Poems
Contributor Notes
Cover Image: David Prater
The second in another binary pairing, PASTORAL was meant to be Cordite's answer to SECRET CITIES but, with the introduction of open comments on the poetry in the issue, quickly transformed into a strange and captivating example of web 2.0 dialogue. Compelling, even.





