The song sheet pylons throb
chords of ice and sea salt skin
plucked like dragged lip lovers.
Dusk is a harsh desert;
birds rip varicose rivers,
gullets pulse for dead fish.
A girl disappeared last June,
skipping to a silhouette
pounding earth with a gosling.
They’re burning gorse to look for her
the covered man points down
hardened men are vomiting.
Antony Owen,
Coventry,
England
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