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Thunder Under London<\/strong><\/p>\n It was there<\/p>\n a silver stratocaster making no sound<\/p>\n the air had a bleak purr<\/p>\n I picked up the neck and plucked a shape<\/p>\n Oh blare!\u00a0 the ringing sweet of that strung gap<\/p>\n music meat to this hollow old world<\/p>\n I played and I flung<\/p>\n I flung out the heavy the sorrow the sadness that hung<\/p>\n I played and I played until an ending<\/p>\n a door to the roof of the sky that cracked<\/p>\n I was living and I attacked with bolts from my fingering pulse the shifting hum of the ohm the electric drone the curve that shouldering curve like a moon\u2019s eclipse or a devil\u2019s horn and that rough vibrating hum<\/p>\n I was being born<\/p>\n gripped at the frets the body smoked<\/p>\n it wrecked through the hollow halls<\/p>\n filled with a green fog the dark air and crammed crashing its waves on the concrete shore where the days had a spark<\/p>\n At last moored to a space I sensed the task:<\/p>\n to summon the living dead<\/p>\n the living that walked step by step, and forked in the dark, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nell Prince<\/strong> has had poems most recently published in\u00a0PN Review, The Interpreter\u2019s House<\/em>, and Sidekick Books\u2019 Battalion<\/em>.\u00a0 In 2016 she was runner-up in the Jane Martin prize. \u00a0She is working on a first collection.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Thunder Under London It was there a silver stratocaster making no sound the air had a bleak purr I picked up the neck and plucked a shape Oh blare!\u00a0 the ringing sweet of that strung gap music meat to this hollow old world I played and I flung I flung out the […]<\/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-20586","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20586","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=20586"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20586\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20588,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20586\/revisions\/20588"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20586"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20586"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20586"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nand slept, dull irises that didn\u2019t dare heart, blank faces commuting beyond the fake glare, stuck in the glass forests, the rock bare, and the cells glowing like tombs.<\/p>\n