Two poems by Khairani Barokka

  medusozoa, neuropathic pain in kalimantan, a lake so inland in exile that jellyfish there have no sense of sting; divers swim at ease, brushing legs against ghosts. evolving out of our sense of poisoning tentacles is possibility; breathe this. the world is dying, yet holds both my enduring corpus and animals whose limbs have wept away all hurt. this is blessed plurality of sense. … Continue reading Two poems by Khairani Barokka

‘Changing Room’ by Rebecca Parfitt

    At the photo-automat, I exchanged 24 selves for 24 frames. It started with a beret, then sunglasses, then I thought, what-the-hell, and started shedding. At the Saigon Street cafe I sat on someone else’s table and peeled the skin off a summer roll. Inside an abandoned margarine factory in Kreuzberg I pondered the face of a Geisha I had spray-painted onto a whitewashed … Continue reading ‘Changing Room’ by Rebecca Parfitt

Two Poems by Marc Brightside

  Still Wait for 2 a.m. and count to three. Listen for the waveform pulse, a dripping tap, bodies curdling metallic juices. Take a shot. Imagine thunder, jazzmen pounding, horseshoes running into drum kits, every ripple flicking beads away from skin. Wait until it slows. Allow the image to kaleidoscope: steam trains chugging, ancient metronomes, dandelions bending in the breeze, a body going pale, vision … Continue reading Two Poems by Marc Brightside

Two poems by Cynthia Miller

    The last hour on the flight deck Shirt too tight, a splotch of mustard (Hokkein noodles? egg salad?) from lunch eaten somewhere over the Arctic, steady heartbeat of lights blinking circadian rhythms. Already his body is waking up when it shouldn’t be, sun pulling at him from the other side of the world. Tray tables stowed. The good coffee snuck into the galley … Continue reading Two poems by Cynthia Miller

The Barbecue (Royal Wedding, 1981) by Paul Stephenson

Mum was mincing steak when it started with Dad’s panicked shouts. She darted out onto the lawn, freshly Flymoed, to see flames dancing, him charging across the about-to-be- christened patio like a bull in a wipeclean plastic apron of a busty bikinied woman, his legs zig-zagging, his beard ablaze, soon tangled up in bunting. The cold tap wouldn’t gush so he buried his head in … Continue reading The Barbecue (Royal Wedding, 1981) by Paul Stephenson