Gareth Writer-Davies

      In the Dales after John Ashbery it’s a special kind of empty the footed earth, saluting the sky so much to see I took a photograph of you posed in the window seat punchy red slippers blurring rock and field the same window in five years?...

Sam Szanto

      Spotted in a 7-Eleven in North Hollywood It beckons from between plasters and hand cream, the box bright-white, the lettering green. The first time I needed one, I visited a chemist in London, murmuring to a middle-aged man across the counter as...

Tamara Evans

      Return Travel West. Submerge yourself in the M4’s homeward drift. Remember how its nightly glow bewitched the kid at your bedroom window? It looked like fire, didn’t it? Exit at junction 34. Drop into street view Follow the lane down past prickly...

Rushika Wick

    quiet slid in bass-drop dams up pierced ears, furred with youth, his vest drinks sweat, high-tops, Moog-loop domed cap punctured with embroidery, brailled ethnographic record, reverb haze of brisk lavender, wire mesh trash of the park, sun-burnt song,...

Helen Smith

    safety in numbers lunchtime, in the maths department arranging pencils by colour two friends, carefully sorting into clear plastic tubs a temporary stand against the inevitable entropy of fourteen-year-olds this, and each september brightened by a new...

Carolyn Oulton

      Autumn Fires Unexpected as burned stone, what am I supposed to do with this memory? The sudden shuffle of ash, flames clicking like needles, grey-cold flags. You there just now – I can’t be sure – perhaps about to be? 5 a.m., still curved like wax...