For by Joseph Carthey

Shoved into a morning with the cold sigh
of someone rusted by responsibility
and its constraints,

There could be no way to silence
the spirited cluster of a station
angrily juvenile in its disquiet.

Cirrus hangs like salmon on a line,
flooded across the city and
half-sleeping, a landscape false

With no comparison to our
shitty bed east from here,
where nothing feels like work.

From: http://abstractmagazinetv.com/2018/06/01/for-by-joseph-carthey/

Date: 2018

By: Joseph Carthey (1996- )

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