I want my bed
I want my bed
to be a speaker so I can be
sound. The mattress is
raised above the ground but the optimal
distance is undecidable.
I note what has been
given, altered and then taken away. None
of these things is
a pocket, a wish, or a spoon
that has been pushed into dirt.
Between the wall and this
desire to know things in
beautiful and imperfect ways
there is a grove I cover
my face to sleep in. I don’t
want to get even. I want to get
where I’m not to have to
realize that I have lungs, again.

 

 

We are grass-footed
We are grass-footed.
My friends and I have left sadness behind us
crying in the dark branches.
Ahead of us is a field in which
we turn wide circles with our faces.
We are so happy to be here.
Now we are going to learn how
the moon’s children
stand up
without breaking any shadows.
In the field we have buried bottles
filled with our hair.
We want to feel safe
so sometimes we just listen.

 

 

Gregory Kan is a writer who straddles living in Auckland and Wellington. He completed an MA in Creative Writing at the IIML, and was a co-editor of Turbine in 2012. His work is featured or forthcoming in the publications Brief, Minarets, Otoliths, Percutio, Turbine, and Sport. His interests include snacks, and power.