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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
How and when the body collapses<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n by Fran Lock<\/em><\/p>\n \/ there’s a breach in the breath. How and when the body collapses by Fran Lock \/ there’s a breach in the breath.\/ in that which surrounds and circulates.\/ in the warm gulf between…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":423,"featured_media":15599,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1660],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15601","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15601","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/423"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15601"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15601\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15599"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15601"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15601"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15601"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\/ in that which surrounds and circulates.
\/ in the warm gulf between neighbourhood and nation.
\/ in the weak procedurals of harm.
\/ between sluggish cells and excited atoms.
\/ we are nourished and sickened from the same source.
\/ this era of machines, their overtures and operatics.
\/ the fury that is broached inside a moan.
\/ england, imposing its failed grace all over us.
\/ the school-room sags, forlornly totalled.
\/ money, in its hoarder’s hood, its useless furl of numbers.
\/ us stink-eye pillicocked violently.
\/ or not-money. i sew the unspoken up in me. stupidity will be insufferable, itemised.
\/ you can declare war on a country, but you do war on a people.
\/ between the declaration and the doing, mouths will be abscessed with obedience. the palpitant vowel is buckled into tantrum.
\/ going o! o! o! o!
\/ much good will it do us.
\/ eyes, averted and impeded. or turned toward the shaved blue of the atmosphere.
\/ which itself is dying.
\/ and still, these desperate bellows. bruisewort, soapwort, comfrey. their mantles of soft lather.
\/ soak up the rosary words for such beauty, sealing the wound with a sweet green wax.
\/ understand, us is the enemy. wash us neverbody out.
\/ us words profaning the purpose of print. exhaustions they will screw us down inside of.
\/ salaried carnivores, eating us kids into dutiful crew-cuts.
\/ black crepe. black cap. wooton fucking bassett.
\/ it is war.
\/ inside of war. burning consensus of sinews.
\/ breaks the arm in three places to improvise salute.
\/ bend back on usselves in crude, circular obeisance.
\/ rank and cavalry. infantries and troops. troupe of exorbitant woe. these minstrels of dull affray.
\/ the kid in the advert is poor.
\/ the kid in the advert is poor and bored.
\/ the kid is going nowhere. on a scooter. in his circlet of downward potential.
\/ the recruiter’s crook. to bag him in the patent pocket of manhood.
\/ the elastic and deodorizing pouch of manhood.
\/ the rubberised, suction-sealed canopy of manhood.
\/ the fifteen million plastic bags of manhood.
\/ with lightweight webbing handles to facilitate lifting.
\/ in a leaky wallet of waxed canvas where spills his manhood.
\/ recruiters on the corner, and all my swearwords have deserted me.
\/ this bailiff’s gang. back-thumpers of bad faith. the mean and furtive eyes of funeral mutes.
\/ who set the snare?
\/ who tightened this town around his one way out?
\/ there’s a breach in the breath.
\/ fanfare survivalists. toy fists bumping up and down.
\/ my chest hurts. compassion’s impossible monody.
\/ they scoop up our children with both hands. like pebbles. like pellets of bread.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"