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Mantra Mukim        - raipur ambient

Lucy Rose Cunningham - Interval: House, Lover, Slippages (selections)

Rebecca Kane         - Meat Cute

Fintan Calpin          - August 20

                                 - August 24

                                 - September 22

Karólína Rós Ólafsdóttir  - Automatic Speech Recognition

                                          - *

Louis Fabrice Tshimanga - Senza nome 1

River Ellen MacAskill - Crawling out of the hellmouth

Lou Collins                - Clockwork Orange

Ciara Maguire - HAND TO MOUTH

                         - BREAKFAST CLUB

Peter Manson  - the merry wido

                          - an englishman's tongue is his kazoo

Zohra Iqbal       - incised

alex cruse          - from  SOLO FOR WORLD SYSTEM

Poppy Cockburn - Stella McCartney Bra
                              - liquid crystal lovesick demon

                              - I am snaky

nicky melville     - make gates grate again  

                            - [un]thought experiment

Jac Common     - gastrology of fucked-up wetland

                            - wellbeing check-in

F.M. Faccion      - LinkedIn is the Anti-Christ

                           - 4am Reddit quarantine

Sabeen Chaudhry - Sket Life

                               - (No) Life

                               - make her rob a motherfucking bank

                               - cull

                               - my heart’s not true

Oliver Southall  - Vernal Equinox

                           - Free From

Cam Scott         - from SNOWMARE

Dom Hale          - Instead of Sleep

                           - For Mau

Joey Frances      - another friendship poem

 

Sophie Taylor     - and I waah

Kaisa Saarinen   - Seedbird

                            - Mud

Alex Glynne       - @pstoral3
                         

Anne Lesley Selcer - Did Someone Say Sin or Sorrow?

                                 - Morning Poem'

Ciara

BREAKFAST CLUB

Ciara Maguire

in the morning the air / is different / a pink antiseptic quality / everything raw edges / swelling / like a grapefruit / violence happens so much / as to be dreary / trauma repeated / like a bruise / gone soft

 

i hear women screaming / roll my eyes / wish they’d just / be quiet about it / everything that hurt me /

made me worse / at night the sky softens / hollows out / just enough / to hold their lungs / i dream of

24-hour darkness / polar night / your breasts / rising like bodies / under ice

 

i think it’s lovely / how your idols / reply to you on twitter / how you always / heart react / heart react/ i want to hold your plait / in my teeth / like a leash / want to condition / the hair on your legs /

tomorrow my heart / will crack quietly / like a yolk / orange & / unseemly / bursting glossy / ovum

into your / mouth 

HAND TO MOUTH

they say the body keeps the score 
& mine is losing
                 badly
a game of fives i did not sign up for
this work is difficult & hard to do well
get day drunk & dance in lidl frozen aisle
the prawns are indifferent
                 i am no-one anybody wants to be
an endless loop of flesh & weather

 

later i flirt with you through tracked changes
tell your poems you have a great sense of humour
                 i have nowhere to be;
just this day & this word
doc sprawling rough & compelling like
alligator skin
you text me i want to be somewhere pretty
i text back me too

but tomorrow i will be at nisa again
same loaf   same milk same lonely exchange
of coins and i will go home       shuffle
cards & pray           
                 i will
                 live this down

Peter

the merry wido

Peter Manson

there was a salt fish that absorbed the wolf clyde water

pre-empting glasgow which would have empted anyway

the wind blows mary a contrary identity

her mother was a professional hog-dandler

and preferred to be known as the enemy of lies

ah will you lay me down and love me for no reason

through my uncoordinated irritable hole

or androgynous peripheral attach system

or all of the above and not for want of trying

poetry will be mad eyeball at the doxx and fuck

be sure to dig it out while it still looks like vomit

troll cats looked like balls of yarn in autotelic play

or the testicles in an old sparrow in april

an englishman’s tongue is his kazoo

complex simon met a foreman sunning his despair
i told them when i think i can’t go on i go on
supercritical space-filling self-avoiding walks
against the encroachment of old aberdeen sub-wobs
upon the turf of my new and selected poems
good      occasionally poor later      rolling homeward
to become the father-in-death of my own parents
i had cut off like a weaver my examined life
of imaginary shit with real sweetcorn in it
and had no memory of my life as a jockey
my cyanotic dog licking this off a pizzle
the harmlessness of the laurel and hardy theme tune
or the jimmy shand monument in auchtermuchty

Zohra Iqbal

Zohra Iqbal

incised

I was incised into a lambent sunbeam 

engraved wholeheartedly into that imperceptible stream of light 

 

open green glass, water bowl

that she dips her hands in. 

 

                                 soft rain falls from them. drip. see the mountain sitting in front of you. she takes us up its

side like ants on that long traverse of 

                                                                                      marble. i dropped ice cream once onto the cream/ egg 

white of the house in cyprus. 

                                            within moments ants had swarmed onto it.
 

                                            ducks in a pond.

                                            ducks swimming round

                                            circles into the water. old woman speaking to ducks;

 

me a child on a swing, 

                                            everything smelling of heat. words elude me. i elide. 

 

 

                                                                                                            incised
 

                                                                                                            lay me onto the soft table

                                                                                                            lay me to rest, let ferns and wild grasses

                                                                                                            circle my legs 

                                                                                                            let me be a cygnet crowned with morning sun:

                                                                                                            engrave me. 

 

i see myself as one of those old stones/ rune stones

carved into with a wolf's tooth blade,

lupine, neck stretched up to gulp 

                                                                          down the sky.

                                                                          fish swim inside me i am all flakes of silvery moon, the 

                                                                                                                                                                                         buoyant rice paper lantern 

 

 

                                                                                                              risen:

                                                                                    aubade in the early hours, such is the life of a rice paper lantern. bending 

                                                                                    reeds, i fashion 

 

a rice paper lantern. 

 

circle the reed like a coronation 

of blood, feel pulpy 

clotted glue and paper mix into your

fingers. it is globby. it brings                                     itself into your mouth 

                                                                                                 like a pudding, trailing 

                                                                                                 effervescent threads, 

 

                                               tentacles, reaching extensions of you, 

                                                                                                                                                                       your tangled root network, 

                                                                                                                                                                       extracting.  

 

i am all extracted now, 

uncarved, 

filled in like subtle dentistry under

the moonlight. feather slope

under the moonlight,

i am all dissolution

 

plush jumper, coloured baby/child pastel blue. 

 

incised 

 

she wakes me up in the early morning with 

                                                                                                  the sound of her fajr and her duas. 

 

                                                                                                                                                             the sound of her prayers: washing me

in the blue waters of her childhood sky, 

                                                            rocking the z buried under soft cream bedcovers. glow-in-the-dark tasbeeh and i open 

up like the long stem of a vase. 

u and i clutching our fluorescent

                                                            pearls in the dark of the bed, the cold side of the pillow

                                                                                                                                                                   made warm 

                     by our hands enclosing small moons. chand.   

years later i call people my moons, 

my line of sight pointed upwards,

seeking moonlight. 

 

split open the goat and rummage around its squelching                                 carcass. 

pull out 

the beaming light, 

return it to her mouth. 

 

spoken onto me are words of protection. my world is decorated with talismans which

                                                                                                                                         dangle 

                                                                                                               from my fingers. flick of the counter against the carrom board 

 

and all moments are victories. past present and future string themselves 

 

along the tasbeeh of my mind,
 

i sit swirling below

light
on clear water. 

alex cruse

alex cruse

 from SOLO FOR WORLD SYSTEM

sometime in autumn 2046 

tepals mismanaged room tone

turned ears to a finer instrument

 

the imaginative supplanted by 

associative consciousness 

elegiac motes suckling  atmosphere

robed in paradigmatic blush 

wainscot punch-in unstamps 

the parole, tied up in care line and 

bursting enriched white,

 

unveiled phosphate lyrical fringe and scratchers piled 

torques the mortal hijink

the ladles brimmed with grist, 

executables, blasted another crest 

of ash, its languid zodiac unmoved, heat-sought

architecture's too-full pleat latches

 

‘oft spot, slavic plaiting 

slowly onto reproductive core

in classic cold war arrivant style, sloughed in arcs, 

doxa's creamed unshakeable 

 

core my scythe edge of ilex indelibly decked, 

stock chart just a red gesture, rimmed circle whose center

you want to touch, just to see

 

which side of the mirror matters less, infoliated

 

as true experts disagree

on how best to verify the limbic stain 

as one hikes down

the last lap of our life

my blood in the centrifuge

swish swish swish

Stella McCartney Bra

Poppy Cockburn

Poppy

Iris smiling

Anna whispering

Fleur humming

Sylvia laughing

Juliet basking

Josie painting

Caroline reading

Gertrude gyrating

Suzy smirking

Rachel rolling

Cindy seething

Rhiannon ironing

Amelia moaning

Agnes crawling

Gloria writhing 

Emily smoking

Rose revelling

Ella gargling 

Sophie spluttering

Jemima joking

Rita menstruating

Celia choking

Kate puking

Shannon shrieking

Olivia bucking

Celeste grinding

Gina gagging

Jasmine watching

Theresa floating

Janey sucking

Alison giggling

Sinead retching

Mia glaring

Rosie scheming

Lila spitting

Ruth retreating

Kim sinking

Sandy changing

Eilish blaspheming

Ophelia drowning

Sarah screaming

Cressida hissing

liquid crystal lovesick demon

I slip on a filter

radiate remote pheromones 

& you slide in, follow the protocol

wyd male order 

 

I watch the haze-haloed moon

through the misted window

through the hearts in my eyes

 

your knock on the door 

sounds implausibly loud 

your thereness so actual

 

I unpause the music

ambient harp, lamplight

& we’re safe again, pretending

 

you kiss my synthetic skin

my plumped-up lips

caress the budding horns 

protruding from my forehead

apply a finger to my static nosebleed

 

I wake once in the night

horns retracted, head resting 

on your patterned torso

 

in the morning, I feign sleep

let you stealth away, keep a picture 

of me demonic, cheeks flushed 

unnatural rose

I am snaky

I taste my

own tail

game over

start over

squat & blithe

each bite of

space food

a morsel

for the dowry

of stored love

extending my

tale / optimism

towards

winning

a new game

boy [oops

I have eaten

myself again]

nicky

make gates grate again

nicky melville

if a scandal developed

involving ingress

through

around

beside

adjacent to

or near

a gate

would it be named

Gategate

by the media?

 

if said scandal

involved a gate

whose ingress

led to a gate

in the archaic

sense of gate

meaning way

or path

would the scandal

be known as

Gategategate?

 

should the scandal

involve a gate

that is actually

called Gate

would the scandal

be referred to as

Gategategategate?

 

further

if the scandal

involved someone

whose surname was Gate

would it then be called

GateGategategategate?

 

similarly

and in parallel

if the scandal

involved someone

whose surname was Gates

would it then be called

GatesGategategategate?

 

if the scandal

involving a person

with the surname Gates or Gate

pertained to Gates’ or Gate’s gait

would the media name the scandal

GategaitGategategategate

or

GatesgaitGategategategate?

 

if Gate’s or Gates’ gait also involved

a door

valve

or other device

for controlling the passage

especially of a fluid

would the scandal be named

GategaitgateGategategategate

(or its equivalent with Gates)?

 

if the gate

or door

valve

or other device

for controlling the passage

especially of a fluid

pertained to a molecule

or part of a molecule

that acts

as by a change in conformation

in response to a stimulus

to permit or block passage

as of ions

through a cell membrane

would the scandal be named

GategaitgategateGategategategate

or

GatesgaitgategateGategategategate?

 

and finally

if some of the above events

involved a number

of paying spectators

as at a sports event

or         indeed

observers

paying to watch

the medical procedures

heretofore mentioned

in an operating theatre environment

beside or near the original gate

and the total admission receipts

of all spectators

were a key factor in the scandal

would it be named

GategaitgategateGategategategategate?

[un]thought experiment

too tier

 to tear

health service, employment, citizenship etc.

Jac Common

gastrology of fucked-up wetland

Jac Common

   poem could be compost to nourish windowboxes

gulping fumes of main road grind & clank

 

   poem could be compost to gather up discarded coffee ground

offerings on   padlocked bins for twilight collection & later fed to    

weird rugose spans of rhubarbs & gunnera

 

   poem could be bogland 

acidic past

keeps    dead chilly & warm, energy derived from    steady dissolutions 

 

   poem could be fenland 

alkaline future

considered mainly poisonous but potentially accommodating if    fungal symbionts

are included in    committee

 

   poem could be alder carr, willow carr, tangled deep-wet successional

colder mangroves, brine-pool rooting, reedbeds rotting down

   mush making occasionally nutritious    toothchewed toenail lectureships

 

   poem could be genitals, a flesh folded fractal    

developmental programme of soft enclosures

   disruptive leakings to make biological appear as unfixable fluid

seeping into    cable network thick green tar

 

   poem could be biologic, scratching at doors with a rough barbed tongue

barking in    moonlit ditches

inverting a starfish’s stomach during    open mic that spills steaming gut stuff

metabolises    external spiny surfaces undo hostile architectures

corrodes out space between    pigeon spikes to form a bowl of amnion

crackling power gridded where    opensource gps could build a nest

 

   poem could be a roomba escaping a travelodge in swansea

hoovering feral    shed bolts of old mineworks &    big bridge

 

   poem could be you a digital water body remembering    cellular sea

or    remade wood fibres justabout pulling apart pleasurably

   genderhackathon injection colluding with waiting microbiomes

ears open to    crystallised pickled ginger of pronounciation

   moisturised scars on    chest speak through their puss-mouths

a garbled thank you to communal toilet paper & squat shower head

blending javascript into nail polish

   lungful surface gases taken in through invertebrate ceremony

   complete digesta / excreta of our failing dry swimming pool labours 

revolting into scuffed graffiti

   sensational nervous presence of every possible membrane

 

   poem could be    extruded midnight russets of ichor jellying

from    overripe oranges shoved like bombs into    exhausts of posh cars

 

   poem could be bog-standard

            smashing

wellbeing check-in

on the oily prepackaged salad

    polluted brights of false spring

 

we hope these unremarkable toppings

find you 

well

 

beef tomatoes are regular-sized 

modified off-red drips artificial lodicules

plastichouse flavour, la ley de extranjeria

too-watery bloody sump of the mediterranean

 

at this time the cucumber supply chain 

has coagulated in the black sea

 

fingers pressed in fluorescence 

deep putridity is self-scanned

 

but grapes on pizza is an experience

 

each round bole a sun-berry bloats

heat melts vertical brickwork 

contactless irregularity 

red shift patterns on defrosting tarmac

 

come to the dropout session!

 

yesterday i saw the VC in the blockchain

consuming the crust of a continental plate

F.M. Faccion

LinkedIn is the Anti-Christ

F.M. Faccion

Barely fledgling   

Standing catechumens on the precipice of almost   

 

                                                             Out-stretching 

something ant-like 

Trying to articulate anything  

  

Men are funny when they provoke each other

 

They stuff their mouths with time-signatures and anecdotes

They addict themselves to absolutes

  

It’s Morning

The LinkedIn feed is smug and lacks God

In His dearth an article about the right way 

to breathe for happiness 

 

LinkedIn is not only the anti-Christ

But an absence of virtue

 

Clouding over beer-froth and vacant  

bodily encounters   

I’m preening in the mirror and applying liquid make-up for who

 

Tech-bros hurt my eyes 

This year everyone is to move their hands in circular motions when they speak

and inflect the end of sentences 

  

Outside the bar that ghosts frequent   

The frenzied ex-Maoist babbles about ontology and mandates   

Between guzzling the tap and re-calling The Bible 

  

That’s my mother gesticulating towards the sky of my hometown 

Remembering Aquinas

 

                I think  

Through the orifice of smashed stained-glass  

  

His coffin’s incandescent glow devours words

                           In that hymn is silenced by seraphic light

I comforted the Final Rites when tears closed on baroque doors

of hoarded Funeral programmes

  

I’m reminded of them when sifting for inanities   

A contact lens prescription   

Or NHS number   

Paperwork collateral nestled between the life of someone else’s Father  

and a scratch-card  

  

The insipid markings of me    

4am Reddit quarantine

oversharing on a subreddit forum

limbs often go like this (limp)

 

in lieu of my hands’ ashen cradle

I tap into minefields of craniums encased

in U.S. war crimes and content

 

re-calling the first courtship via MSN

with a boy I wed on the playground in my cap of flowers

(*) awaiting marlowe’s madrigals (*)

 

only to discover blowjob briefing through the lyrical croon

of some crass BlackBerry notification        

torso torn amidst nascent exploration

                                                        and antipathy

 

he took you to public places 

expecting porn-acts between sharing beheading videos on Facebook

 

{{sad if not utterly absurd}}

 

 

oh to have curbed the screen strewn with the soft dough

of uncertain bodies

                    the breaking of bread

an Omegle prerequisite despite the intermittent ////////// sweet-talking serenade

 

common interests: 420, harambe, making friends

 

leveraging the transactional nature of relations in tony blair’s britain

I become everyone’s gf on runescape         pimped out for rare items & GP

money squandered on Stardoll memberships      

                      

but Tamagotchi alive to defy the odds                 

                  standing there phallic to fuck time

earl of rochester style 

                             

                                        <3 10 years of immeasurable impact <3

 

on my lunchbreak I watch rats die in heaps

                 digesting baudrillard through cracked tempered glass

my god! look here, above the abandoned 85” TV 

 

there are mothers throwing nappies from derelict windows 

for foxes to pull apart            like sacrificial lambs

bound to altars in the baked half-light.

Sabeen Chaudhry

Sabeen Chaudhry

Sket Life

She is getting up on the wrong side / as irradiated coral dust / falling she / (vapourised islands now) / dots the i penumbral / becomes the mo(u)rning breeze and then weightless / skips the rope communal / moving sketlike / leaking the noose. Suspension is her moth-fisted alibi / buoyant labour that clangs the colour / of shadows on the sea. Anticipating gravity’s agenda this time / stretches the legs of her spirit of shade / side-eye with friends they cackle and stride / through storms / floods / atoll craters / eyeshadow fallout / a toxified drop on the end of a leaf. Together they say: ‘fake snow’ / ‘don’t smile’ / ‘every other spiral’ / ‘detonation’ they turn / to one another and mouth ‘miss u when can i see u?’

(No) Life

She is evading / passé so dense it rips the universe a new one / choking on the afterlives through every dusk / desolation / dinnertime / she plays metastable footsie with him under the table / does not let anyone order for her / runs a finger round the rim of- / no, checks her lipstick in the holographic duality of- / no, metallic duplicity of / a spoon. Leaning down, she pats clay on the combed backs of broth kittens / touching her nose to their derelict / wet noses which have been in the milk wine soil / 284 baby hearts full / of metastasis without permission. Beating now she / spills the bisque romantic / sashays the world a turn in good faith saying ‘no’ / (no) (no) (no) (no) / no to their soup / sticks a fork in his arm like she is a law / passing / doesn’t blink / leaves the table.

make her rob a motherfucking bank

abysmal fawn pyrocla