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through mud made yellow we walked

her and I

I do not remember the poems

russ Thomas, I recognise

I recognise the sound, poems


a moon of thighs

claims the norsewaterboatman

through the snow we walked

& now thighs are recalled


pregnant, the skin stretched

with the promise

I no longer see the skein of my

dogged pock

in the shining tin of the stretcher

she was carried over mud & snow


SJ Fowler is a postgraduate student in philosophy at the University of London, works for British Museum, and has published poetry in Poetry Monthly International, 3am, Vice, and Parameter magazine. He currently lives in London.

© 2010, SJ Fowler

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