Jon Miller

      35mm Haul down the ladder and you’re in under a skylight casting a blue dream. Lino offcuts, packing cases, old 45s, brogues, spilled jigsaw pieces, hats. Here our cast-off selves come to console each other. We remember less than we forget. Under...

Philip Gross

      The Song of the Scans This is the song of the cells’ soft throb, the quivering coherences, their shuffling the profit and loss of life, to have and to hold. This is the trace on the scan, clouds, miasma of tissue, the ghostings of bone. And this...

Jenny Hope

      Witch No man can hold me. See – I blur the line between days, inhabit that space between sleep and wakefulness. The blue hour’s lung swells – Exhales – past fresh-laid hedges with their dark-ditched waters stirred by breath I...

Damaris West

      Lochan In the circle of its trees the lochan shines midnight silk. I could be a lily printed on its sheen but silt would fill my hair if I floated so I dip only my body as I swim and when I scramble out naked, every spike of peach fuzz is coated....

B. Anne Adriaens

      symptoms she is aggregate concrete and grit held together in a human shape lying on her side knees drawn up flesh tensing to stone and tendons in flames the weight of her body pressed into the mattress leaves a shallow hollow once she’s gone a...

Martin Potter

      crow’s landing glimmer blades the field’s lightly fogged grass green struggles through autumnal vague chill flop a crow drops in black flurry sky-fall awkward hops forward eye-dark clever     Martin Potter...