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Cryogenic Steam<\/strong><\/p>\n First I fell from a window and thought A door opened in the fog. Somehow when I found myself walking the steppe This is when the wind started speaking.<\/p>\n The sky hung like the giant keyhole of a vacant door . I remember It\u2019s possible that I remember so that Chris Sakellaridis<\/strong> is an Anglo-Greek poet and teacher of English. His poems have appeared in Fuselit, Cyphers<\/em> and The Delinquent<\/em>. He is currently working on a debut collection entitled \u039e\u03ad\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\/Xenon,<\/em> an exploration of hybridity, chemistry and foreignness.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 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 wasn’t like opening my eyes. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","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-3631","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3631","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=3631"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3631\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3633,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3631\/revisions\/3633"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3631"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3631"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3631"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nI’d never reach the ground.<\/p>\n
\nOnce inside I closed my eyes and tried to imagine
\nwhat it feels like to be dead.<\/p>\n
\nit wasn’t like opening my eyes. More that
\nI was slowly woken from the frost
\nby heavy blinking.<\/p>\n
\na violet canopy above, an alien shade, a tincture. I remember
\nwomen in hospital beds, and coughing. I remember
\nclicks of antiseptic dispensers, a bedside view over a fuming city.<\/p>\n
\nI don’t lose the language of the dead.<\/p>\n