Simon Taylor

over the groundmatterlaid down byabstract bodiessome knownto usas motherswhose givingnow is renderedineffable nowhere concretelike the potential for birthof childrenfrom concrete wombsor as fathers recalled butwhose powersnow are decomposed to bacterial potencies of future men, women andall of those clinging to innervestments like passengershanging off bone-hooksin the walking, love-making hulksof a

morning view Pyke River Lodge this too the Lodge itself bluing Graeme at the memorial plaque for Davy Gunn, erected by his son, Murray the tale continues… but which horse was Davy on? when it stumbled and trapped him underneath it in a river he had crossed over a hundred

who is savedhas not presumedthey are luckywho is damnedhas not despairednot despairedI shall talk to youand my wordspenetratethe delicate traceryof your snowflakeheart’s venoussystem. In thisway, I am anintimate.This life scales.A voice isanimatewithinthe voice, a voicewithin and withinanother, as crystal iceextends dominionand despairsettles in generalover the land, winter.

does it lastthe night a deepa deep fissuresuspended daylike ashlighthalfthe half toltingbelief-riddendown the graingrey of a twilit beach-headwhat measureround sleepsleep curledin sleep’s organslungsbrain aheart likesonhow slowcommitthe sky-rentof severed furlingloose fallsdream-likemouthfingershairhollow tonguebloodcan we then cascadewithoutfallingwithout withoutcommit the questionshe is an accountantbare legs in summertimebut noshadow of earthrips throughallall everyone all