Fokkina McDonnel

    what will you do now you’re alone in the sun ask your shadow to leave you for a while send your shadow to market where it can frighten chickens, the women selling red powder let your shadow enter the forest of tall trees stroke the snouts of grunting...
The Vultures of Prometheus by Ruth Aylett

The Vultures of Prometheus by Ruth Aylett

  The Vultures of Prometheus by Ruth Aylett Nobody asked us if we liked liver especially a man’s, especially a demi-god’s. Eyes are much tastier, but we aren’t allowed to blind, part of the punishment is to see us coming. And this diet is disgustingly monotonous,...

Cheryl Pearson

    How To Write A Poem First, forget the moon. Forget your lover. I want you blind to weather. Stars. All kinds of water. Start with I, with you. With what you know. No reimaginings. No Salomes with milky thighs, serrated knives. No penitent Medusas....

Jill Abram

  Did Philippe Petit come to Heptonstall? At the top of the mill chimney some hundred feet above the stream, level with my eyes and my open mouth is a man in a leotard. It is purple, gleaming neon against lichen on stones to which he clings, brighter even than...