Question & Answer 1 – Carrie Adams

Question 1

This nebula of petals,
this mint leaf tea planet,
this shimmer of libraries –
……..lock these scars
……..in the back of
……..an ambulance.

This arc from Antarctica
bloomed in crimson butter
flies the shape of Budapest –
……..and we are human
……..because we can see
……..art, ark and arcs.

Are we stardust or dead
skin cells? Believe in cardiac
arrests and police profiling –
……..the worst parts of
……..green and blue
……..exist in a vacuum.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 1

I like the tiny places.
Squeeze into, slough off
When you asked me to perch in the rain,
I thought robin, I thought cardinal,
I made wiry feet toward the puddle.

When I came back
and bent down toward the handprint
in the sidewalk, I saw how large
we had all become.

The concrete shimmers
with our past forgotten gum.
I don’t know how we make
these things up, ourselves over.

One day the train doors opened
and I made a little nook
between the strangers.

– Carrie Adams

Question & Answer 2 – Sarah Cave

Question 2

I want to live
en les rêves des notre ours,
not the journal
or the memory of my
B…….L…….E
A…….K
attempts to reposition myself
as a series of blackout
pages sewn to the inside of my knee
cap…….LET
IT
SHATTER.

The dreams of a bear,
our bear,
a collective,
global
bear.
Wouldn’t that be fucked up?

– Aaron Kent

Answer 2

[Bear / Dream/ Symbol]

bear
is

bear
is……………………………………….priest
…………………………………………is

priest is
bear

at dusk
is

bear is…………………………………dusk is
flesh

no………………………………………bear is
none
no…………………………………….priest
one…………………………………….is
………………………………………..Ours
bear is
song

un –
/
…………………………………………coll-
…………………………………………ected

fantasy……………………………………mimetic

preservation……………/………………….act
of
self –

Bear / Dream / Symbol / Ours

collection

box…………/
the bear…………………………………at dusk /
the bear…………………………………is dusk /

thebear……………………………….is flesh

/ collective……………………………..nervous/
ticking /
worry/………………………………….un – stitching

/ panels /

distress
an act
/……………………………………….of self-denial

mimetic
= self………………………………………/

a priest’s
holy
orders………………………………………/

preserve Ours………………………………../ dreams

Surrealist

refiguration

/

mist rising
ice to water

/

Social-realist

transfiguration

/

sacrament

melts Ours……………………………….eager mouths
graphite wounds………………………..endless type

a keening act
………………………………………./ Morse code

midnight sound………………………….art replacing
…………………………………………..Evensong

for Shipping……………………………../ Forecast

it might never be, murmurs Ours

– Sarah Cave

Question & Answer 2 – Stu Watson

Question 2

I could pull a cart with balloon strings
attached to three thousand flies,
and live in the back as a static memory
of all of God’s failed jokes.

Do you ever feel like your heartbeat
is always the lowest common denominator?
I salt the numbness with the infinite sun
and the cancerous growth on the edge

of my shadow, reading the dreams
of Murakami’s broken unicorn skulls.
Every day from July I will fight the robots
who plan to steal my daughter in endless dreams.

I could pull a cart with balloon strings
and a few dozens owls – but what good
would that do to stop me from staring at the ground
from the edge of a Spanish balcony?

– Aaron Kent

Answer 2

As a teenager I used to think
so frequently of crowds of bats
assuming on synchronic wing
that laughing shape, a human face;

but now I think instead to hear
fine rhythms cut in air by wings
and from that score to force a voice
a noiseless signal which will sing

of maudlin things like Henchard there
upon the bridge just looking down
infamy spread across the town
just staring at his reflection when

appears as if on cue an effigy of him—
what I would not give to be
a swarm of bees or locusts then
to witness that strange fictive man

confronted with the image of his sin—
how might hive-minded hearers turn
the moral of his story round
within the natter of their teeming brains?

– Stu Watson

Question & Answer 4 – Daniel Roy Connelly

Question 4

Live commentary is acceptable
……..in certain social situations
such as ordering complicated coffees
……..or buying your weight in vinyl records.
I didn’t see Elvis on Sunset Boulevard
……..but I’m pretty sure I saw Nikki Sixx
trying to siphon the sunlight into his veins.
……..I have a heart too, and it screams
for a beating heart beating a beating heart.
……..If you’re heart is so dark, Dan,
then why don’t you paint it in bright colours?
……..Give it some life. Tell it to fuck off
in the early hours when the reverb
……..is caressing your pillow a bit too much
for sleep.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 4

BEGIN

Have I not given enough
Lux in Tenerife to colour
the drolleries of a FUCK OFF DAY?

……..Sick of the effort, tbh, soft heart,
……..ran the brushes down to stubble
……..trying to get the different colours to stick.

…………….So I took my heart and tagged it instead.
…………….Overnight, indecipherable squirls
…………….covered every invisible inch of me.

……………………Dark core’s emblazoned now, pal,
……………………might not even be mine anymore,

…………………………..like when out of the blue
…………………………..you meet someone you really like
…………………………..and they tell you they like you too.
…………………………..You don’t see that every day.

………………………………….Tear into the tub of salsa.
………………………………….Knead the finest Roman dough.
………………………………….Cherish nonna’s smoked scamorza.
………………………………….Raise a glass of prosecco.

…………………………………………I’m just kidding with you. I’ll refrain.

Remember that hole in my bucket?……..It’s all that’s left.

Nothing will come of nothing…………………………………………………Speak again.

– Daniel Roy Connelly

Question & Answer 3 – Cheryl Quimba

Question 3

That halogen moon awakens me
reminds me that these words
are all I have left and you can have them.
You can keep them.

g/h/o/s/t

tear me apart and pull out something beautiful
something necessary. Do you ever want to be
rebuilt from the ground up? I am grit after a downpour
crimson leaves in the first week of autumn.

I am lost through the night with dreams of
greater men – they
all have podium finishes, they all glow in glorious
……..colours whilst I fail.
I am /failing/
/falling/
//drifting//
///empty///

geist. In spirit (l)on(e)ly.

Restart. Begin fresh. new.
Restart.
Re****t

– Aaron Kent

Answer 3

The person I was when I was reading Frankenstein
late at night, in bed, wondering
which parts of me must be monstrous
can I see them under the street light
Or listening to the market report while idling
I might never be thoroughly
good, or listening to a semi-stranger
tell me about his lower back pain, knowing
I am no longer the person I was
when I was reading Frankenstein,
No one talks about the function of the Arctic
in that story, how one creature followed another there,
how the cold was a stimulant and a balm,
how there was a man alone, on the ice,
Knowing I have days and days
that are bent, watching what could be
a fly on the baseboard or a movie about a boy
who seldom smiles, knowing I am
not the person I was when I was reading
Frankenstein, how could I be, listening to the hums
and whistles of an old-timer’s bar, the counter
cracked, the stools uneven, what a comfort I am
no longer the person I was when
I was reading Frankenstein I might have been
younger then or older or made of something
else entirely I was so much half-monster
or turning more mine, reading
those nights in bed I had notions of what
cold must have felt like to a man desperate to find
that I am no longer the person.

– Cheryl Quimba

Question & Answer 6 – Charlie Baylis

Question 6

My wife and I have a running joke
that our cat does not understand the need for names
and so calls everything Charlie.

Charlie Moth. Charlie Dog. Charlie Horse.

But stop smoking Melissa, I’ve done it and it burns
like a tentpole thrust into the moon’s surface
or a dolphin beached by SONAR. SONAR CHARLIE! SONAR!

Charlie Baylis. Charlie Bailiff. Charlie Bail of Hay.

Hey! When have you ever been here for me?
I didn’t see you at my wedding, or when I scream at night,
or the birth of my daughter (trick question, that’s July).

CHARLIE! CHARLIE! CAROL!

I will burn your house down and then we’ll see how you sleep
on a pincushion or a cloud, or a woollen cactus for £12.
It’s always sunny in Cornwall. It’s always sunny in Cornwall.

Pepe Silvia. There’s no Carol in HR.

This office is a Goddamn ghost town.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 6

burn my house down! you sly motherfucker!
i’m so glad i poisoned your cat.
i haven’t been this pissed off since the editor of the paris review pissed on my shoe.
i haven’t had this much fun since i told taylor swift her poetry was godawful
amid the subsequent nuclear fall out
i was accused of misogyny, terrible hair,
vomiting on unicorns, shoplifting from the aaron kent superstore.
i was told not to submit to the eighty nine very boring poetry
reviews of oxfordshire and gloucestershire
selena gomez – is it too late to say sorry?

aaron of kent. kantish aaron. aaron kant.
go bieberfile your fingernails

the sun shines in cornwall
except the day i arrive
douse your new rollerblades in petrol
place dynamite under your asshole
blast you into outer mongolia
strangle your cat for the ninth time.

– Charlie Baylis

Question & Answer 3 – Jeff Alessandrelli

Question 3

I’m homeless in antique shops, no sunlight,
where the clocks tick down to haiuken.
The eyes of the oysters behind the manicured
cabinets lock my jaw shut. I can’t scream
for the Kraken’s arrival, or write a PHD
about Godzilla. (Even legendary sea monsters
sell their souls to alcohol companies).
Solstice has us running from the moon –
both moons, one Q times smaller than
the other. How many do you see at night?
It hurts to shed owl feathers under lost words,
and build lego into stairways. Sue moths, Sue moms,
Sue mum. Sew krosses into loaves of bread.
I’m infinite in antique shops – here the tablets
don’t write pikatrapp on canvas.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 3

To a hoarder
love is just
another form
of possession,

a savoring soon
to be thought about
only for possession’s empty,
enormous heart.

Gathering dust,
true love’s
loss of self,
and I antique

into silence,
my unlust
its own solstice,
ribboned—

These piles of forever,
piling up,
homeless,
just say it, say some—

The moon!
Weighty carriages of the moon!

– Jeff Alessandrelli