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2016-10-05 08:03
Bees have a Commonwealth and regiment. They go about in Spring, as Beanes bloume. How cleane their hives, no trumperie or gubbins. All filth is foot-balled smartlie out. They take joye in… Read More
2016-10-05 07:57
In the lemon we find a fire that cools, coos. Mathematically succinct it is a flame which unlike most can be cut in half or thirds if you prefer. In the skin of its lantern light implodes, s… Read More
2016-09-11 05:38
Still looking for lost people – look unrelentingly. ‘They died’ is not an utterance in the syntax of life where they belonged, no belong – reanimate them not minding… Read More
2016-08-28 06:52
Let the light of late afternoon shine though the chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn… Read More
2016-08-11 17:37
As some attract lightning, and others midges, I draw behind me a delicate rain – hooves drumming lightly the steep, dry lane – a confabulation of wall-eyed gimmers. Thought of my… Read More
2016-07-26 10:28
Since you walked out on me I’m getting lovelier by the hour. I glow like a corpse in the dark. No one sees how round and sharp My eyes have grown How my carcass looks like a glass urn… Read More
2016-07-26 10:26
It’s because you never left These endless fields Where an oak tree sails the horizon Like a lost galleon Where rabbits crouch in mad-dog heat Under a sky full of eyes Where a gunshot s… Read More
2016-07-01 07:50
for Jane and Joe Hazan Let me tell you that this weekend Sunday morning in the country fills my soul with tranquil joy: the dunes beyond the pond beyond the humps of bayberry – my favo… Read More
2016-06-29 06:26
(Some rockpools for R.) Jellyfish Medusae – babes in the wood, with milky domes and faint fontanelles; constellations that someone shook into the sea, orphan circlet of fangs, spasm… Read More
2016-06-17 16:32
That night, facing the sky, both of us still salty From the body that crashed softly in next to us, We were reading God’s Braille. Grasping for dippers, handles on meaning And you… Read More

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arspythia | 'poetry is a disturbance in the language' Sidney Graham


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