I am not going to win because I am not a winner and there is nothing to win and that is
sad don’t you think I was told to be a winner and I don’t know what it means my face
orbits a paler sun the spirit monkeys are in the trees they hit me with their ghost sticks
there is a reason for all of us and we invent that reason and you cannot win it on the
flame of my tongue I cook my own food and you can eat it too on your own tongue not
There goes my life there goes my last feeling. I want to suck the bones and the beans of
Poland. I do not want to suck the coal the flowers of Hades. I traveled lightly with 15 kilos
and I burned. And I am still burning. It is a dark life full of awe. I want to float in this
bathtub. Just be for now and later too. If you turn a word on its side it becomes a colour.
I am going lightly like a cockroach. I have hard shell but soft somewhere. Deep inside.
Marcus Slease was born in Portadown, N. Ireland. They are the author of eight books of poetry from micro presses. Their writing has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, featured in Best British Poetry 2015, and has appeared in many literary journals and anthologies, including Tin House, The Honest Ulsterman, Helikopter, and Hayden’s Ferry Review. Currently, they live in East London. Visit them online at www.marcusslease.weebly.com and on Twitter @postpran.