Thick sweet rain is falling like black milk tonight. The dog is calling to the fourth in a party of three. In uphill darkness I talked my dreams to sleep like children. I’m leaving in the morning. * I am increasingly unstable. I do not want company at the centre of the world. I suffer therefore I don't know what I want. … [Read more...]
Art Allein is a young poet who hails from Kochi, India and now is studying for a Phd at the University of Oxford. Art's poetry has previously appeared and is forthcoming in a number of national and international magazines including; The Irish Literary Review, The Amsterdam Quarterly, Wilderness House, The Oxonian Review, The Cadaverine, IS&T, Cake and Elbow Room.
I can see him moving as a bird alone in anonymous rain forewarned by blood like every migratory thing and gone in wind, in perdu, insignificantly battered but I think his jaw was wired and what arterial embalming lent in tensile strength to his taut veins I could not see. Disinfected, opened and pinned as a pair of wings he suffered four gloved hands … [Read more...]
I Knocking on this door again, I feel as if I’m drumming on my own chest and hearing the rattle of something impaired. Everything I feel feels inauthentic or ill-formed. I overtook him without knowing and I who was always a mourner for hire am self-employed. Grief like ecstasy cramps my arm and every suit on the central line outlives him with every wheeze … [Read more...]