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Ewen Glass

Love Letter

When all but us is the air,
and in it trafficked epithets
(you fucking cuck!)
and suggested words
(you… are… going… to… be… in…)
I search for flower, for river, for sun,
to find myself repulsed,
and returned to the shape of prayer
the x-height of San Francisco.
Lost in the anatomy of nature
(though my body bends to it!)
I incline instead towards the certainty of
simple words,
solid lines,
and near instant delivery.
To Anna: I miss you
Smiley face.
Ewen is a Northern Irish poet who lives in England with two dogs, a tortoise and lots of self-doubt. On a given day, any or all of these can be snapping at his heels.
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