Sarah Westcott
 
Let us begin at slant light
with cut felt flickers,
unhooding cubic skulls,
furtive and hungry.

—from Bats

 

 

11141740_937667829358_57468453838137656_o.jpg
 
 
underfoot and in our hands
in our gags, pockets, fists,
it likes to be close to us
whispers down the lines

—from It

 
 
 
 
We willed her wings to open
her form take shape,
conflate to airy spaces.
A new crescent moon.

—from Messenger

 
8489358621_3439c8e80c_k.jpg
 
 
They remember every birth,
find the vanishing point in shop windows,

walk over hot coals, and pray
they might, one day, burn.

—from The Cannots

 

 

 
 
 
holding fist-force, face down,
giant stamp into hollow, our hollow
shaped to our feet, our home. Us waiting

—from Barnacles

 
14714864_10100170177135818_5447584742313786367_o.jpg