Kirsten Irving

  A DAUGHTER   'Heavens keep the newborn infant from starblasting and moonblasting, from epilepsy, marasmus, and the...
Continue Reading

Alistair Noon

The old man in the next door flat, / brownshirt, turned Christian Democrat, / then Social. Oh he drank drank drank. / But his bedroom sink always stank...

Jon Stone

First, know that your breasts must be overthrown. / They have their own dominion: the rivet and rust bloom of nipple and areola / are nerve centre, the rest curtilage, / a whole apparatus enjoined in continuous dreaming. / They hate to be called ‘the twins’

Re: Word: Gwerful Mechain

Her fuzz was the fuzz of a first rate ballsack, / her welcoming knothole electric and sud-slick ! / I say: let the silence end, and bless this bright circle, / this wonderful, shock-haired, sour-proud fuckhole.

Kirsten Irving

we all have holes somewhere. you forget / just how what’s the word? / poor. porous. how porous we are.

Kirsten Irving

That mouth. That mouth is your homeland’s embassy / in a foreign country, when you have been robbed / and your son is gone...

Dafydd ap Gwilym

you wetted stump who gasps milk, you crude homage / to a shoot with her bud. Not one more twitch, / you cursed baton, you crooked clutch / who dreams to be the axle of a girl's two halves...

THE POEM: Jon Stone On Rimbaud’s “Au Cabaret-Vert, cinq heures du soir”

Sometimes I think Rimbaud’s writings should be banned. Banned, that is, from being put before flouncy male literature students eager to reimagine themselves as dashing and romantic, since as a semi-mythical icon of artsy hedonism and unbridled passion, Rimbaud is dangerous medicine.

Designed by B O D Y | Powered by D3S