Home page

Editorial details

Browse other issues

Subscribe

Guidelines for contributors

Contact details

Interviews

Currajah (news & notes)

                GRACE MCQUILTEN

 

          Untitled

 

This is familiar.

 

Your madness

crawls

up

the back

            of my back.

 

So I sink in ideas.

 

You are climbing

             still

the blood on your knuckles

a clumsy proof.

 

I cannot picture you.

My mind is a cluttered house.

It is not

full

of you.

Words are noise, comfort.

The stereo is broken – relief.

 

You are wordless

             fading.

 

I am home.

That is all.