Nathaniel King
the birds are tiny eco systems
that remind me of nothing in particular
our dishes all drown themselves
while we’re scraping little cylindrical spores
from the bathroom ceiling with a de-icer
wondering how the cat will take it
when one of us doesn’t come back from the vets
my beachless body installing an art nouveau lamp
in the basement of someone’s mid-century brownstone
lint rolling a lightbulb in the rain
when i ride to the library for daylight savings
my bicycle doesn’t know its dark
my hands are sad without signet rings
lifting cobwebs from a continental shelf
slowing down to observe one soul
at the intersection
holding a pineapple
in a particularly sanguine fashion
i wish i had a pineapple
or a more consistent handle on this
when you ask me about my day why do i
always feel like someone trying to hide
a Bichon Frisé in a box hedge
in the creche & marginalia of infernal elms
i have an appointment with a psychoanalyst’s
desk ornament of a manic depressive
how do you sleep at night
very expansively with weighted blankets
with essential oils
essentially quite well all things considered
sometimes you hurt the ones you hate most
and that’s surely sometimes good
Nathaniel King is a poet from Cornwall, UK. His debut pamphlet, Ghost Clinic, was published with Broken Sleep Books and received an Eric Gregory Award in 2024. His writing has appeared in Poetry London, The London Magazine, bath magg, Berlin Lit, Butcher’s Dog and Lighthouse.
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