HOMEPAGE


 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

oxygen

a lit candle unspeaks the dark
washed over blood cleanses

                                    imagine me
                                    is speaking
                                                            only to you

angled default comfort the machine exhales just one more time
expectant      nothing drawn      all is there is to draw on

 

                                    *

 

legs so thin to sharp me

the lucid minutes

 

                                    love is always

                                    so you see

open mouthed for what are these for
thumped out air drowns the clock round
days yesterday today april june a birthday
can the turning back on your own
unaided the end talked through silent undressing

 

                                    *

 

there you were among the roses
calling out

                        I try to come round
                        thought from prayer

defeated cells expanded into bubbling shadows

 

                                    *

 

that was the last time standing
leaving never caught what you said

 

all the worry of effort
failing

                        not to write defeat

 

                                    *

 

how the dreams come
                                                try not to talk

 

                                    *

 

what left to process deflected
            ideas slick a typhoon circuit
tripped and scattered unreading pages

held carefully
                                    injected
pain never hurts but it does this time uncomfortable

 

                                    *

 

windows            widows walls a bed

 

                                    special treatment
                                    only      underground      laboratory
                                    hums the ship’s engines overheard paparazzi
                                    held in going to kill animation
                                    with big shadows you grow      folded under

 

the room is full of

 

 

 

[Nathan Thompson grew up in Cornwall and now lives in Hebden Bridge. He is studying for a PhD at the University of Salford, where he also works as a graduate teaching assistant. His two collections with Shearsman are The Visitor's Guest and the arboretum towards the beginning. He also has pamphlets out from Oystercatcher, Knives Forks and Spoons and Gratton Street Irregulars. Recent readings have included appearances in Berlin, Prague, Paris, London and Manchester. From 2008 to 2010 he ran PoAttic, a reading series featuring international poets at the Jersey Opera House]



Copyright © 2013 by Nathan Thompson, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.