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 be
a living bullet

wedged before

It is
impossible
to tell
you
everything
I don’t understand

I want to
slow the pace
to a crawl
searching

pick up all the little broken things

the wind is full of
un-wind it

spooling
spooling

spools of
bloodwater
in the air
tonight

 

 

By Ross Brighton

(Auckland, NZ) is the author of beck: nothing, can be done (PS Malmö, Sweden, 2013), Lullaby for David Mitchell (Forthcoming from Electio Editions, Australia), Temporal Maze Denture (above/ground press, Canada, 2011), A Draft from Birds (&then&then, NZ, 2010), and A Pelt a Shrub a Soil Sample (Neoismist Press, NZ, 2009). His work has appeared in numerous journals, including Turbine, Brief (NZ), Meat Confetti, Reconfigurations, Action Yes (all US), Bad Robot (UK), Dusie (Switzerland), and Cruce (Puerto Rico). He is former reviews editor for the US journal Tarpaulin Sky, and completed a Masters in Creative Writing at the University of Auckland (2011).