Its colourless mouth has shaped unseizable words


you in yourself circle where you still my arms to return  ready-made


without boundaries it gives a lake a last clean


takes on shadow substance but the place already and again opening its tender


bearing tears of cold childhood directions all fluid impossible


and night transparent your skeleton clothes has skin arrived


and always another inside you I wanted fluids lips could instrument


the pulse of petals in their suspended unfolding


and vertical again only no longer touching remain open


I and together unfrozen of eyes have wandered near mouths


the hidden it under your door I the answered opening on melt


and fingers gentle the clean cry my small body facedown





Ian Seed is editor of http://www.shadowtrain.com. He teaches at the University of Chester (UK). His latest publication is a collection of prose poems, Makers of Empty Dreams (Shearsman, 2014).



One comment

  1. Pingback: Issue Eight, July 2014 | Matter

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