Gavin Yates


Smell of egregious hours the petulant fridge. 
Water lilies panting the gradient: app bursts under thumb.
 Unfurling on wine more blue than onerous.
 Moggie has something to say: it takes effort to listen
 and it’s less satisfying than you’d think.

Posted in 86: NO THEME VII | Tagged


A table drops from the fog: you pick something autumnal. They’re swimming the tiergarten, they lean forward pouring accordions. A rasp. Island heels. The money you waste was always going to be. Sunny evenings: an ink smudge. You ask for …

Posted in 82: LAND | Tagged

Reeds Move

Reeds move. Might such eavesdrop hearing forest: hide the bruised hips. Slug hands call the shell its shadow— never phone baby, but I pear. Light the seasons: sleeping of collapse, slight bending, five white in trees rather than puddles warped …

Posted in 80: NO THEME VI | Tagged