by Helen Ivory | Nov 29, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Straight Lines The ghostly sap in lumber warps it just to keep us humble. We talk about a beeline knowing the overloaded bee wobbles on her way home. Bureaucrats long for trees with unserrrated rectangular leaves—little green chits for...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 28, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Air is Blind with Cities The air is blind with cities. I see sparks of meat, scattered like body’s of rain, with tiny voices. I see starving faces, bluer than hills of sand, of perfectly formed deserts. The hunger is calm, like...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 27, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Reverse Aubade Next you’ll be saying the effect of rain-flow on a house is our own fluidity, those unheard percolations. But the old gods weren’t stupid. If my body’s a temple or whatever, no light at the door reaches the relics. The new...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 26, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
7.05 am crossing towers of tall apartment blocks [Jumping roof to roof like the Hulk] a shallow flow of sewage beneath my shoes [I am Superman] work around the corner Monday morning, 7.05 am. all quiet, except for dog walkers [Bank robbers and I...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 25, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Cryogenic Steam First I fell from a window and thought I’d never reach the ground. A door opened in the fog. Once inside I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it feels like to be dead. Somehow when I found myself walking the steppe it...
