Today brings us back a set of slating skies

grappling for my sight amidst the taste of last year

at moments like this my mind makes me answer

a realisation: that you were pushed and didn’t slip –

we see the air keeps heading south and soon

another pair will find it too. I first notice blood on your tongue.


We’ve grown in split houses

and accustomed ourselves to corsetry that

teaches you and I how to run fingertips over

ribcages and lacings: how to grip a spoon so

some awful table-guest never realises

why we clasp our faces hidden: again, I see.

About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

6 responses to “tidings

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