<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Black earth woods<\/strong><\/p>\n there is a man Rolled in wood, The miserable damp wood bark is <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Becky Nuttall<\/strong> creates a coalescence of allegorical art and concepts. Her poetry and artwork references the nature and implications of theology, religious violence, guilt, piety, art history, feminism, popular culture and conformity – defining and considering how these are interpreted in adolescence<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Black earth woods there is a man in the woodpile. wearing the uniform of the ordinary. a hat and a belt. Rolled in wood, the cold metal of the car boot is pressed into my mulchy flesh. I bark. I can do it, if you ask. Stacked bark, bark is my resistance. I […]<\/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-13661","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13661","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=13661"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13661\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13984,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13661\/revisions\/13984"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13661"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13661"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13661"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nin the woodpile.
\nwearing the uniform
\nof the ordinary.
\na hat and a belt.<\/p>\n
\nthe cold metal of the car boot
\nis pressed into my mulchy flesh.
\nI bark.
\nI can do it,
\nif you ask.
\nStacked bark,
\nbark is my resistance.
\nI bark, bark.<\/p>\n
\nsquashed under the logs
\nthat are held together by chains.
\nThe sludge at
\nthe bottom of the pyramid
\nof murdered trees.
\nA feasting pool for
\nforest debris.
\nA chain across my back.
\nA man in a hat.
\nHe barks back<\/p>\n