new poem. oct

Familiar with lips made
from zero light
amoebas of day
rens sit on my fence

Small pokes
twitching bliss
perfecting flow

Until the rens are made of black birds
and the den is like a warren
so follows the slurring knife
cutting wine like monday

And the children of cello burst through shades of summer
And their limbs contort into thunderous autumn
And the fading twigs made of trees have time for all

Into oblivion gem
a friendship

The bark and pavilion
made of lacquer.


is Raoul Moat in a boat. His first words were ‘Newky Brown’. As well as being our most prolific writer, René also creates graphic art, paintings and screenplays.

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