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Category Archives: Poetry
discourse/analysis
‘establish the work of your hands’. it finds a steady hum, the beat of an ocular dance stretched letter by letter. they are their own chisel, chipping at moral tessellations: an unfettered trust in some kind of labour, digital ink. … Continue reading
bright abyss
when i meet my maker, i think about the yawning gap between prayer and consciousness, the straining ache of the eyelids and the single, shuddering convalescence. at one breath i dwell at the edge of pink sundown, swept in a … Continue reading
process
the text will never be a mirror, just the pale imitation of a sunbeam’s fringes, an incidental breeze, the grainy pink of an evening glaze. and when it is pulled from a shadowy place, it glows as a lantern, radiant, … Continue reading
composure
and the rustling fell still: face flowed into eyebags, creases deepening affably, unflappably, the presumed moorings of conscience. their silhouettes at the ledge, restless, hungry, peering past our door, that same fear at the peak of dusk: where were you … Continue reading
sheol
‘the cords of Sheol entangled me; the snares of death confronted me’ – Psalm 18:5 (ESV) back then, i feared each night my eyes would close for the last time, numb to the pinprick of consciousness. there would be no … Continue reading
resurrection
at dusk the tremors begin, too stubborn to yield to that pained ekphrasis: jagged headpiece, mottled palms, limp torso, crimson stain. perfection is unbroken bones; they roll the stone from the mind. light crackles in an empty cavern. no tears … Continue reading
lament
why do groans not form in sentences? the wetness, red, curves by drooping eyelids, at the edge of tiny windows. prayers catch in the throat, droplets keep to themselves, faces, lined by tubes and tightened paper, are seen only in … Continue reading
temptation
this world is not conclusion she writes – breathless cages for teeth to rattle, suspending the shudder of mourning flesh, the lacunae of unread distance. and he is still as it begins to nibble at the soul, the ache that … Continue reading
ritual
always the same: sleep burrowed in the corners of the eyes, thin pages flipped in sacralised bed song, stillness cradled and rocked, mourned in the slow descent past auburn fur, the bitter of morning sips, teeth enfolding, and the sun, … Continue reading
Chapare
Still digesting lunch’s red bananas and citron, having avoided poisonous ants on the long hike, I lean over the piranhas of the Chapare River, drape my hand in water as the boat speeds on. We pass by a ruined bridge, … Continue reading
Epigenetics
A kiss discarded pell-mell into anarchic flames dredged from the human genome, tacked on secret frames— the insistence of causation— buttresses our frail elation. Cravings, interventions of hands, brain, waver in the aftermath, suspect given the environment’s influence on even … Continue reading
The Wolf
Sprawled on a chaise longue slumbering, waiting, excised from routine, a notepad in his lap, fountain pen, crows canter in the void surrounding his body as traffic hisses a block away. Dressed in navy slacks and a white-collared shirt, form … Continue reading
Rebellion
Just keep loading the gun or wild tigers will devour you, stomp on milk cartons, break into buildings, lead revolts, and other perturbations of disgraced tyros. Bells of holidays and felicitations unknown, carols that in their fervor have become untenable: … Continue reading
Pilgrims
We are an immigrant caterwaul, a spectral bonfire of glass smoke and opaque heat. In our blood courses the flint and silver of antiquity, in our bones the ore of ancient machines. We span the Euphrates and the Seine. We … Continue reading
Saturnalia
after Virginia Woolf’s Between the Acts Albeit disenchanted, unmoored, the generative probabilities subsist on meager praise, blush kittenish, tender no resignation, while forces of capitulation, scrolled on shields and doors, unhinged, rational, guard every exit. Desist or raise glass— rush … Continue reading
Troubadours
We shall not dive into oceans or be obliterated by the sun. Our crimes of leisure and solitude will remain incomprehensible. One day we’ll explain our disdain for lizards and moths. Across the moon we’ll lay our shadows, both unseen … Continue reading
Fall
I have seen nothing, but I have seen all. Blackberries rotted on a withered branch, small and inedible. Fire floating on the air above a wayward river. Without care wind harangues the trees. The difference between light and shadow wavers. … Continue reading
May
A cricket’s milieu—dewy grass, fistful of dandelions, reconnaissance of nesting jays—has proceeded shadowy rain. Today the lily blooms, worms surface in dirt, clouds zoom like warmongers across a peacetime sky while soldiers linger in bed, nursing tea. Hares evade the … Continue reading
Circle
Show us another way to be invisible, like rain that can’t fall, a mannequin holding a cane, a whip-poor-will without wings. Blame the raven for its execrations. Call the night by its other names. Lose all, even love. Let go … Continue reading
The Giant Exhale
The winter exposes the bones of the landscape, the skeleton of the world. I have cried at the table because the meal brought me back to who I used to be. It was easier to put a dog down when … Continue reading
I Just Want to Be a One-Star Hotel
My brother tells me I have dead doll eyes and complains that Wi-Fi is bad in Taksim the whole time. The bathrooms here look good although the shower door swings open of its own accord. He pounds the wrong key … Continue reading
Two shapes
Sun and moon, perhaps, the same, separate, separable, but only just. Two lovers or two brothers, young boys, with horns and spikes: hedgehogs and cattle, perhaps. Two sisters intertwined, perhaps, above or below makes no odds, at peak in their … Continue reading
Room to breathe
i. A piece of sharpness cries, lying triumphant and the long sadness weeps blue for the hurried night, it comes too soon. The fury of a blistered cant mellows. It lists solely. You chew your words for the green days; … Continue reading
Artemis
i. As Artemis wept, alone, alert, we leapt. ii. There is always an absence on the wall; a sunlit barren palette. We scrawl water figurines as the sun stalls over cobbled scenes. Childhood calls from a house made of … Continue reading
The digging
The warm pollen sits heavy in the loam and the wet soil, wet and furious green all over. The infant watches with a child’s eye. Laughter is all around; the father idly sups, the mother digs, the children work the … Continue reading
