We liked poet Harry Jelley‘s piece at our Heathens’ Christmas Party this week so much that we persuaded him to let us publish it…
Silent nights
are the most settling/
disturbing
They can be
slashed so cleanly
from one into the other
— like that moment you
realised the comforting
presence of a single smart suit on
an almost-empty-but-for-them-bus
at 3am
isn’t chatting calmly on the phone
but is
instead
unfortunately
brokering
a complex international
business deal
into a remote control
& then you see the mud (maybe blood) (maybe hair) under their fingernails
& thoughts go forensic.
That is how brittle…
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msamba 