This poem is taken from PN Review 237, Volume 44 Number 1, September - October 2017.
A Smaller Variety of Wales
1
The sun is a counter of coal
cut thin, laid out,
and wet with light.
2
A fish with slate eyes
waits against cold water,
swimming to be still.
3
Brother Thomas
hunkers in heavy thought:
a bald hill wrapped in pines.
4
Howel Rees
lies in the
dead grey stones,
broken with no pain
by the blunt heads
of bursting bulbs.
5
The Giant sits
on his crater.
His arse is wet.
Big head in the rain.
He watches me pedal by,
...
The sun is a counter of coal
cut thin, laid out,
and wet with light.
2
A fish with slate eyes
waits against cold water,
swimming to be still.
3
Brother Thomas
hunkers in heavy thought:
a bald hill wrapped in pines.
4
Howel Rees
lies in the
dead grey stones,
broken with no pain
by the blunt heads
of bursting bulbs.
5
The Giant sits
on his crater.
His arse is wet.
Big head in the rain.
He watches me pedal by,
...
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