There are so many. Dancers dance them. Lordly swans. Soft swans. Isn’t it time for the swans. Noise rock, post-punk, industrial and post-rock. Temperamental and beautiful. Here is a poem, from The Green Monk, about swans, written in London, in a bone cold room, during winter, warmed by swans, and the thought of swans, and also sleep, swans are the best sleep.
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). View more posts