In the early hours he’s dreaming:

another room rippled with dangerous
moonlight bombers  moon he yells pinned
against the far wall next to a chest of
drawers bought second hand between the
wars his headboard tilts into a dusty
hedgerow where sudden silence thickens
roots he wedges himself between as locusts
blizzard he kneels to broken statues among
them his own their rising shadows cross his
back while marble fists clench behind him
and circling close in.






Kevin Patrick McCann
Illustration Nick Victor


A new book of poems

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