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