<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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Ride The Amazing Cobra!<\/strong><\/p>\n Everything is in the open now: But that feeling that this <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Daniel Bennett<\/strong> was born in Shropshire and live and work in London. His poems have appeared in a number of places, most recently in Structo, The Stinging Fly and The Manchester Review. He is also the author of the novel All the Dogs. You can find him online at https:\/\/absenceclub.wordpress.com\/ <\/a>or @AbsenceClub<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Ride The Amazing Cobra! Everything is in the open now: there you are, pinned up high like clothes thrashing on a line, and cry, scream, or hide your eyes there’s no getting off. Gravity strums at lower nerves, imagine a plane wobbling in turbulence, a happy poisoning. The rails play out like […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12352","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12352","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12352"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12352\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12353,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12352\/revisions\/12353"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12352"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12352"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12352"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nthere you are, pinned up high
\nlike clothes thrashing on a line,
\nand cry, scream, or hide your eyes
\nthere’s no getting off. Gravity
\nstrums at lower nerves, imagine
\na plane wobbling in turbulence,
\na happy poisoning. The rails
\nplay out like a xylophone of bone,
\nand death is the arbitrary gift
\nof a childish god, who has yet
\nto learn mercy or tolerance,
\nor the simple beauty of your life.<\/p>\n
\nmight well be it, is half the fun
\nand as you whip and turn
\nspin, and scream, you reach out
\nfor someone else’s hand
\neven though they’ve been a stranger
\nfor, oh, well, a number of years now.<\/p>\n