Poetry by Alex Skovron
The whisky I’d been reviewing
the night before had thinned my blood.
Poetry from Kirsty Sangster
This dog fox has been out all night leaving its scent on tree bark loping its way across the golf course into the grounds and the infra-red lights in the fine morning mizzle its killing face angular lean wary legs too long and thin for its body the powerhouse of the eyes taking in everything tired of hotel rooms and wheelie bins fast-food dinners the raucous mating in beer-vomit dodging the wheels of intercontinental lorries a migrant from the riverbank copses urbanised by stinking hunger by easy hunger in back yards, industrial estates, parks here by […]
Man is not the art he makes
Step off the pier and into the unknown
Still, I continue
to strive to thicken my knowledge.
a desperate ‘come here’.
sparkling air that is not air.
You carry this beneath your underclothes, next
to your heart. It will be the last thing they take.
you need to know you cannot count on this.
I can’t help thinking: Is this my birthright?