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Cluster index: Lydia Unsworth

‘Hurt Detail’ and two more prose poems.

Lydia Unsworth: ‘I swallow myself to sleep―on trains, in soon-to-be-demolished houses by the sides of rails. I raise my arm at the steamy driver, her eyes and the things we train them to deter. They say a foolish death is a happy one, that she who looks both ways has an excess of empty time.’