from The Creature (still in progress)

A Hut is Constructed of Loose Stones
this is part the story of Genesis 
a human is being collected 
the book of things 
the book of bodies 
a pool of chlorine 
the skull of a Frank 
or the skull of slug 
a lover gives love 
while snoring 
while thinking about England 
one has to become very small 
with closed eyes 
one becomes the cat 
or the toothpick 
badly one listens to things 
like toffee pudding 
or top of the pops 
the silver button on a plastic box 
where the living rubs against the skin 
an uproar and din 
who speaks when you are not speaking 
near the chirping or rattling of things 
near the barking 
obscurity filled the atmosphere 
there is nothing 
the nearest desert 
can explain to the mountain 
a bad sunning lizard 
like an accident 
we never saw coming 
Mitchen’s monster 
or a new dust devil 
dropped plush with the desert’s breath 
a whistle of wind 
through cool ridge 
a poem about mint 
we all like it for longest breath 
withered down 
& desolate 
in the nearby past 
hedge tree shrub house hut or 

Published by Marcus Slease

Born in Portadown, Northern Ireland, Marcus Slease has made his home in such places as Turkey, Poland, Italy, South Korea, the United States, Spain, and the United Kingdom – experiences that inform his nomadic surrealist writing. His latest book is Never Mind the Beasts (Dostoyevsky Wannabe 2020).

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