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Deckchair Cartographers<\/strong><\/p>\n We charted the sable graveyard like it depended left eyes like cornucopia shells rolled by wine – Like breath on a neat blade we could not hear like a love stung heart \u2013 a mess speckled Three hours. The fingertips were spinnaker knowing the map couldn’t care less to what <\/p>\n Sam Kolinski<\/strong> began writing in Glasgow. His poems have appeared in numerous publications, most recently The Cadaverine, Glasgow Review of Books, The Glad Rag and Ink, Sweat and Tears.<\/em> He was recently shortlisted for the Jane Martin Poetry Prize (2014) and is currently developing his debut pamphlet.\u00a0 (Website : kolinskisam.wix.com\/poems<\/a>) | Twitter @kolinskisam<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Deckchair Cartographers We charted the sable graveyard like it depended on our lives, splayed horizontal as split sacks, left eyes like cornucopia shells rolled by wine – trading each foreign nictate with a distant black. Like breath on a neat blade we could not hear or feel but merely […]<\/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-7446","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7446","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=7446"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7446\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21420,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7446\/revisions\/21420"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7446"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7446"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7446"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\non our lives, splayed horizontal as split sacks,<\/p>\n
\ntrading each foreign nictate with a distant black.<\/p>\n
\nor feel but merely see it, a spume pressing<\/p>\n
\nyet somehow simultaneously collected.<\/p>\n
\nand telescope and compass. Our heads sailed,<\/p>\n
\nwas jotted down, though it not once telling us so.<\/p>\n