mountains pushily presented
Rough take and
onto the spread.
Delight as we tire,
what has been good.
what’s good here.
All jammed and out of luck.
It’s another type of distance,
we settled in the lock.
What we have,
we have to go.
What we ate we
were nor ready.
Takes a turn, you
save the line.
fixture
Process this in
a city of light – stay
for a
chime what
influence does good
or lit in this pleasure
chime with the questioning
chime with the cool trap
and arrangement
mist where we lost
the template of things
their cool grey edging
no-one there were no
translations
at some point a
break like in the fence
it comes
swept up to it
this smudge of
air to who this
is now addressed
time on a hinge
is now silent
is now stolen
a bag saddled to the hip
and what with resuming
deprived passes standard
class trap shut your or
only drift ever
so long
thoughts sullenly accessed
and brushed away
who would you be
to deny the imprint of
copper plate
your zinc contemplation
neither fit nor never not
working
on crossing over
that fence grew just
a few inches higher
Andrew Spragg was born in London and lives there. He has written critical pieces for Bonafide, Hix Eros, The Quietus, Poetry London and PN Review. Recent poetry books include Tether//Replica(Sprialbound/Susak Press, 2015), OBJECTS (Red Ceiling Press, 2014), A Treatise on Disaster (Contraband Books, 2013) and To Blart & Kid (Like This Press, 2013). A new book Now Too How Soon came out with Contraband Books in autumn 2017 and his collaborative book, Dogtown, with the artist Beth Hopkins, is out with Litmus in the autumn. sectorhabits.tumblr.com
