Night
night knocks inside my dream
at the end of the world
death house
where sawdust covers everything.
i am fortified with evening rubble.
there are even rooms
that repeat themselves
as poor excuses
or after-dinner cigarillos
in a bag of night rain
that presses upon these dreams.
they’re often drawn
on the garage floor of my grandfather
in a far off memory
no tunnel web dares weave unpinned.
“I’m wearing badges
that cancel all your kindness”
tossed in the mauve reclusiveness
and i can’t even look at you the same.
As a current English Literature student at the University of Durham, Harry Gunston’s work draws on the humour of poets like Dean Young and Kenneth Koch, as well as the surrealism and lucidity of poets such as Frank Stanford and Jim Carroll. He co-founded and runs a small-press literary zine, The Avant-Cardigan, and is a regular contributor to local student poetry magazines.