Tag: #poetry
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#027: Tack Stains

On the wall that supports my desk My hands, my head There are etchings of flies drawn by phantom children (Or post office own-brand white tack If we were in the business of being honest) White tack used to hold up A scratch (no sniff) map of the world That kept collapsing to the ground…
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#026: Syllabic Verse Play (1,3,9,6,8)
Palm Simple psalms Against ones chest, a talisman or Balm to aid her unrest Apologies, for I digress . She Sips her tea Stands, then sits to read, to distract from Her fear of the present Moment only eclipsed by the . Pit Earth, tomb, crypt Her pools of azule begin to dim A grim…
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#024: To be a pencil attached to a compass

Whether Creation arises In spite of you Or in light of you You still remain centre
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#023: This mattress of mine

[After Kai Miller’s ‘A Short History of Beds We Slept in Together’] . The first brand new bed I bought for myself Smelled like independence and recycled cotton Perhaps I’d spent too many years in house-share beds That smelled like quarter-life crises smothered in overpriced rent I lugged this new mattress of mine up the…