Three poems by Jacqui Rowe
New work from a residency at the Barber Institute of Fine Arts, Birmingham PECULIAR MUSIC 1 Nina Lopez She knows she is a film. Her hair is spun from chintz. She is fading into cushions, grows out of upholstery where someone has split paint like flowers. M Renoir is he still here? Her hands are jelly, fingers melting into lips. Blue, seen through … Continue reading Three poems by Jacqui Rowe