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None of Us.

…and two more poems.




…..A robin so large
it is unable to breathe, quick
movements, I’d nearly trod
on. I left it to luff
noiselessly life’s

…..We moved
my grandfather to a hospice.
When we visited
he’d mouth the words
to moaning


….. Small birds flicker
in a wet hedgerow and white
butterflies follow me a moment.
The rain falling on us
we count foolishly and smile

….. A door
behind which nothing is forgotten

is closed onto
its street I saw a boy sat
at the window listening

where the graffiti reminds
me of her hands Matisse’s
blue dancer: cool
as morning frost


My heart will last:
my mouth, like yours, lies half open,
and is kissed by the curve of
your tongue.

We are close as
gossamer, two lovers
gossiping, but fooling both.
A mantis settles

in the light here of heat or colour.
She’d collapsed onto a bench
sighing glottal
of our affairs.

Luke Emmett writes: ‘I try to generate content by expressing my appetite. I shape a poem’s sounds independent of that, to create a pattern of abstract and concrete energy on the page. I think of this as nomadic.’ Luke Emmett previously, in the Fortnightly: ‘I Am Not a Clock‘ and three more poems.


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