A poem by Andrew F Giles
Astrology You’d ordered it, the sky – unpacked it at dawn, decanted the moon into your hipflask: the things we are led to believe stars grown in sleeves like flowers, signs in a scrapbook, as in science. The stratosphere arches its humpback, that much is true, yawns massively black, blue, throws suns across the … Continue reading A poem by Andrew F Giles