Because of their format, several poems that appear in the current issue are included as pdfs. To read them, click on their titles below or on the right side of this page.
Nag, prattle, palaver -
he’s had enough
of loudmouthed chatter -
better to invest
The beauty of it’s also
the hell of it: our sharpest teeth
He got up. It was there. And it was growing
from much the same place it had been before;
it had followed him to sleep without his knowing
and, once he rose, had crept up to the door.
—“mu” two hundred thirty-eighth part—
The air lay lit with a kind of dread. Expec-
tancy’s arraignment it felt like, the oud’s
outer inurement all there was, inside out.
Throw the word on the poet’s wheel,
Write the mud on the potter’s desk.
From bone and ash I need to spin
shapes that sing to us of blood,
I shall die in due course on a day of rain.
Not in the last bed by the exit, please,
with a loud sitcom on the gogglebox
but in an armchair during a sunshower
O troubled people, frantic creatures of an hour,
swift generations, curious growths that flower
and fade in a brief stretch of time as if
A defense of high walls
soft sea lawn
the caress of the grass
Suggest we meet inside the library.
The afternoon, aflutter with children
downstairs, sitting Indian style to hear
When they escort you to my body they will burn,
when I am watching from that other country,
when you are weary of embellishments
death insists upon, the wilting pastels,