I send unsolicited pictures of my cat to mycontacts list. Make an Instagram page devotedto my leg hair. Watch videos of running wateruntil I need to pee, revel in the humanness of itall. Remember what my mother said about makingthe best of it. Write the first letters of all my loversnames on a page to make an acrostic; it spellsJJADED.
Wherever my mind flies, it is still
Confined
Tightly to this world, this very cage of
Sensory & imaginative c e l l s
1/ I vs 我: Denotations
The first person singular pronoun, or this very
Writing subject in English is I, an only-letter
Word, standing straight like a pole, always
Capitalized, but in Chinese, it is written with
Lucky seven strokes as 我, with at least 108
Variations
Whoever said we all bleed the same is a liar.How can you compare the blood of those who have spent their lives inTowers made of ivory with those who have spent their lives inRooms without windows?Do the humans that were whipped remorselessly and cried bloodOver the loss of their identity, their freedom and their humanityShare the same blood as the
I saw time, in a brickI found on Valentine’s DayWhile alone, walkingThe headland, to PenarthA bright deep orangeFlashing romantic redA beacon glowing in the greyIts corners carvedSmooth, sides softenedPockmarked, planed awayBy the Severn EstuaryLayer by layerFor longer than I could calculateBut which I could see, could feelTime in the tale of a brickI took home, to place on my mantelSo
In between piles of washing, phone calls not made, to do lists
never written, let alone achieved, only routine my 3am
monologue – paths not taken, career goals not reached stories
not written
There are moments like this:
I inspect minutia, ensure no streak
or wayward nature’s mark
from birds or rain or any outer world
impact, topple, crack this crystal orb
the universe is a mother bird upon her nest,
puffy-feathered breast gently rising and falling.
beneath her vast plump belly
she warms myriad eggs
some large,
some small.
each with
infinite potential.
I didn’t realise the walk was by the abattoirwhen I drove us out in Marchthe last chills of Winter spreading outlike paper ready for colour –my eldest pointed at itasking Dad what is that what is thatat the distant corrugated domeI told them This is where they take the cowsto make them into foodmy eldest laughed at meand my youngest
Due to limited control of our formatting on posts, the formatting of the following poem is incorrect. GapsBlanks SpacesAbsences perfectThe arrhythmic pulse of adamaged heartThe unreadable signs on her palms Scattered daisies the psalm of springbent on a frost soilrecoilingwaiting for the lightin no straight linemissing a few petalshissed away by the windBye. Buy issue 10 today. Lucent Dreaming is
