Benjamin Norris, 7/12


the morning brought sheets of grazing snows
fighting for feet amidst memory of spring
at times like these the promise of hope is a
seasonal shift, an answering mind
brought on winds which whip themselves east and
cough over tracks. I see bones under skin and
remember that I am a long way from there
where I learnt to breathe bottles and teachers
would leer through jars holding artifice made
to mimic the plants that push through the paving
and remind us why – so hard to leave
but the hard ground will split in the summer

Remember The Deed, Remember

A new illness creeps and leaves – a wave that
takes the flesh off my bones and returns it quietly
every few seconds I become anew and
we talk of pasts and strangle landscapes
ignoring changes outside our door
you stay sitting, throwing up old lives as though
nothing will remind you of rings, a move, the day
you created someone real while
I slowly gathered closer, my days reshaping
in my feet. A distraction: I can be there, too.
Promote. Poetry.
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