Ross Brighton

Poem I’m finding it is air (thin) twig twist over skin under light under air thinks thick things this post-depravity is alldown andand citrus OUTfall falls out dustygulllet OH! mourn full furl moonfall I move crossways to ourselves “what do you mean? birds come out of bodies all the time” It takes little preparation to… Continue reading Ross Brighton

Ross Brighton

excerpts from Birds a nervous disposition birds of television low action poised naught attrition the bounds                              (cloaked) generally dark dawn a priest an action movement rocks side a region of me face sunning whistle (little)       radiance globe       set              far a rebel of late bride brought into the open and taught the son of the polite season quite difficult to… Continue reading Ross Brighton