This poem has absolutely nothing to do with me reaching the end of my time as Managing Editor of Cordite Poetry Review.

just not possible. it’s not possible that the heart could heal itself (within days the way a novel does, metaphorically, or the way a tree heals the wind as it sways not likely. not in my lifetime, or yours will we live to see the human heart sing the way a pop star does having…

no he’s not dead yet (as if he ever could pass on or away from this winged world Ephrem Tamiru! tell us what you think re Anchin Kalmeselesh or else just th sax (sax slow and shark-like snarls through an Asmara bar to hit Thomas Keneally cold in the nose like a sweet tea might…

star swinging so slowly spookily seven signs say someone’s sleepy saying so so softly somnambulent shredding sorrow saxily swaying snakes simmering so snowily sad so smitten saying sutures shiny someone’s sax subtracts sneezes singly singing sinew shutterbug starsigns signs so slender star so saccharine so slow so stunned say something shattering slowly sing something sad…

start: doo-wop is the new ter-weetie: sheet iron rules the world of river commerce, still maniacs wander the streets of wood mill towns aimlessly, listening to portable transistors, waiting till their batteries run down to nothing. sometimes, i wonder what it’s like in pittsburgh, or anywhere, really, sited on the confluence of more than two…

Bara de döda stiger av i Kymlinge … Only yesterday I thought it was a great idea; The trees were still covered in cutesy icicles, Dead birds lined the footpaths & I wanted to Get on at a mystery station – or at least leap Off into some great unknown, wings attached. At the T…