Name (Chris Jones Poem)
His name has been ghosted over the fence, leaving an alias, burn, prison clothes. I'm half the man, he says, ...
His name has been ghosted over the fence, leaving an alias, burn, prison clothes. I'm half the man, he says, ...
I caught rumours of some internal hearing then you appeared with tears squeezing your eyes, hands scrunched up like a ...
We sat in the belly of the aeroplane and held out for sirens to swerve across the grass; men with ...
When our moggy brings in moths, she squeaks through the kitchen, tips between her teeth, and scoots upstairs to scuff ...
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