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2 poems by Luca Bevacqua

Time is the matter of the day,

Sculpting a hagstone out / Eroding it slowly

out of our iliac crests, cones under your

bare feet from the random forest

sprouting out – a rusted nail's stigma

of an event.

The first joint

The last headlights

set on the night sky:

erasing the diamonds of the poor

The first week of February ends with haloes

under our shirts / Balmy smells, smiles –

cordial the omen pre-echoes

for the lesser and for the trodden

Time as a balding statement in its best

physique / Its resilience of a wave

a deforestation flood

tearing down your home


Stelliferous tachypsychia

here it comes again, the anamnesis

the hoar craving to write torrentially

to glitch and wait to say goodbye,


there's a choir shouting at me from the tills

their speaking in tongues my weekly communion

My mouth is lonely, internecine

my sweet tooth is growing impatient

Sign off the times, tomorrow,

I will look up all the sunsets


Luca Bevacqua lives in Edinburgh. He is the author of Echolalia (If a Leaf Falls Press) and co-author of 100 Linguistics Poems (Gauss PDF).


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