Intact
Anne Walsh / Poetry

Intact

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

Glasshouses
Poetry / Stuart Barnes

Glasshouses

for my father; and his Sucking dentures, whistling ‘A Boy Named Sue’, my father constructed cold frames, terminuses —one metre x one metre x one metre, four facets, and a crown, hinged and flat, threaded with sparkling wire—of the dark Goliath dwarfing his father’s orchard since seventy-seven. Come winter they’d clack like men across a … Continue reading

10:15 Saturday Night
Poetry / Stuart Barnes

10:15 Saturday Night

The oranges made a gorgeous, swollen pile. —Fiona McFarlane, The Night Guest 10:15 on a Saturday night: my housemate’s asleep, Tiger Coils roil an air wet as whelps (a bitch yelps), Mulder’s chest hair exposes itself like clockwork. Grindr trills       Bud what ya into      Familiar thrill. in general? in bed?       Whatevs HAHA proving his youth. I … Continue reading