2 Poems
Into the Mist
Frost crackles
beneath your stagger until
you stop,
stock-still,
surrounded by plinks
of picks,
whispers rippling
through mist:
nothing’s as
nothing as
it should be
none of this
none of this
should exist
Nocturne
The lantern creaks
on its hook.
Rats gnaw in the attic.
Your brain throbs
like a feeding tick
as you reach
to bolt the door
to winter’s ravage,
to wolves you feel
watch you sleep.
Other Works
Brain Bloom
by Diana Kolpak
... I smell roses. Does it have to be roses? ...
Imaginary Museums
reviewed by Matt Lee
... This is a writer who can accomplish hugely imaginative leaps with very little space, minimalist flash firing on all cylinders ...