GRACE MACNAIR
Harm Animals
I slip behind a large oak. The cows regain their drowsiness.
Weekly poems, selected by the editors. Featuring new work as well as poems from our rich archives.
I slip behind a large oak. The cows regain their drowsiness.
A jellyfish floats the ocean hallway
like a plastic bag
Like any good son, I stole
mother’s
insomnia when she delivered me
I sell tickets for magicians and mimes,
I stand by the entrance with the key like Peter.
does draw a blues a curtain along
a greenfleshed ash
What summoned the small thing? Dark
light surrounded us, the wretched
Metaphor has been stolen from the poet.
We make the soul composite when throwing shapes
with hearts and hands, as if hearts could understand.
It was the mouthlark, I mean it was morning
i told the nishinaabe parliamentarian