This poem
is a vanity: worse than lipstick.
Things are extraordinary.
The moon wanes.
A belly swells.
This poem is technical, yet angelic;
with the word apple in it;
and something about the blush of sleep.
This poem is crafty: a petite point.
It is structured in the breathless dream of night
where the sliver-moon sparks and magic
cells are stars dividing—
sailing in the void.
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Amy King About her most recent book, I Want to Make You Safe (Litmus Press), John Ashbery describes Amy King's poetry as brin... -
This is a rock. It is a rock found on the path to the ancient well of St Non near St David's, Wales. One side of the rock is one-a... -
The Goddess came to me and suggested that I write these TEN SUGGESTIONS down. (That's her yelling, not me.) 1. I'm your moth...