Issue 24 of one of my favourite magazines is available here:
Prole is a print magazine crammed with poetry and prose. If you are a submitter, submit; but check out an issue for an idea of which of your work might fit. As a tiny taster, this is my contribution to issue 24:
In the wrought iron chair, oblivious to watchful eyes,
she’ll be waiting under a nervous moon for her dealer.
Her answers come foil –wrapped, sealed and shiny,
hard to get into without a steady hand.
My flaming wings were grounded by the threat:
‘Each time you chew your hair, angels fall from the sky.’
Hunger, the desire for sucking barley sugar to a point
that could blind with a jab, loosened my gloved fist,
had me running from the Trailer and her pipe-smoke, to
follow the direction of rain, edges of clouds, slush of gravel.
Shame is broken-glass shaped, fists through windows, bottles
smashed on grim pavements, my whistle killed by drifting teeth,
the sudden appearance of gaps on the bottom row, an inability
to exactly shape air to summon dogs racing over the horizon.