Annie Blake


remembering E.G

murder is conscripted by juries in courthalls there are other sorts of halls

loss makes us take off our skin of hope of love from the woman whose efforts

will let you live on one condition as long as i am lawyered and judged there is a world

inside my bones if you’re ever unlucky enough to find it know it will never be stilled

the permanent inky odor of saturation the last sandpapered hours of grief

where sea pebbles can only be fondled by the moon there are creatures with long tails

insatiable mouths of seas animal scissors cutting down the sky vulvae

are not part of the first world of matter data a projection of the wet

succession of deep mines of minds the gagged flapping of a hole in the wing and dancing

with his mother was more than the gnashing of coats sometimes women

are just women then men can only be men

Annie Blake is an Australian writer who enjoys research in psychoanalysis and metaphysics. She holds a Bachelor

of Teaching and a Graduate Diploma in Education. Follow her work on and

on Facebook.