My former self crouched composed by every element coming in through the broken screen blizzard froze my hair heaven electric pink through the two-in-the-morning window. Now I think loneliness is like lightning. It is attracted to its previous victims. Luckily solitude keeps me company. © Anne Walsh Continue reading
The day tries to be as beautiful as you How she mimics your eyes in the dawn How she dresses the wind in your soft T shirt How she laughs sideways at me when I don’t hear what she says How she paints her doves with the same colour wingtips How she escapes me © … Continue reading
I die every second in everyday places you catch the light in my throat and lemon it so I can’t speak easy Make it moon light on the river of my chest Make it sing long as morning on the slow spines of trees green as Sunday school for lovers oh! I die many … Continue reading
Visible in the wild wreck I am is the empire I was My ruin is the most beautiful architecture Wreckage has made me dervish, an astonishing ravaged split log angel In the brown of my eyes pulled up, the Spanish doubloons of the autumn squash yellow of debris, the shock of stained glass intact after … Continue reading
Anne Walsh is a poet and a story writer whose work falls somewhere on the border of those two countries. Sometimes she’s a dual citizen and sometimes she has no country at all. Most of the time she is illegal everywhere; a local nowhere. Hers, the homeless criminality of only the deepest love. She was … Continue reading
Poem and Dish 