September 2017

Back to Issue 2


By Alison Flett

This here is the beast of me

snuffling round my dark

-shaped den, scuffing a dust-bath

of foxy stench, hungering

for something sacramental

amongst the scrambled

bones of lust.


Through small holes

I pant the air

I piss the water and pump the blood

I watch the skies as they open and shut

and know this is

the heart

of all there is.


My yearning stretches the length of me

arches the cathedral

of my back. I accept

my own communion as I

straddle the earth, bend

towards the earth, lick

the sacred longing of my hollows.