Question & Answer 4 – Lavinia Singer

Question 4

I don’t hear trumpets
when the reckoning comes,
just the silent, soft sound
of footsteps.

We all need more than one week
to grow, more time to shield
our remains from the soil
and bury our aging bones.

Where will you be buried?
In the return of graceless dancers
I will find myself torn
from their aching kneecaps,

spread wildly across
the bugle player’s path
and cleaning the mess
from an unsanctioned riot.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 4

[New Moon]
Sunday 23 July 2017, 10.45

It began so quietly and darkly only a softness to the shadow that soothed, not menaced. And here I was here lulled into the talk, and opening an the eye to the inner histories and layered desires histories I’d been balancing in the heart. Soft and dark, you inveigling We can only hope for earthshine at a time of absent of earthshine and so inveigled, I sang and spread slipped the message as as sure as wildfire but black here it flows, crisp light fingernail tearing the open the from first to and last dark and how does it appear slips slipped like a fingernail’s ragging raging the dark, and how does it has appeared I can only this ragged graceless path – from first to, against the dark, last. an at it is a graceless account. an unspeakable I would think it unspeakable

– Lavinia Singer


Question & Answer 3 – Lavinia Singer

Question 3

I’ve buried heaven
in your house.
Can you find it
amongst the webs?

I’ve lost my watch
near the river,
I hope it eventually
reaches the ocean.

I’ve grown old and broken
on my front porch
and read poetry
to demonic woodlice.

I’ve made vegetarian
fry-ups for my wife
and given ten percent
to our future.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 3

[Third quarter
Saturday 17 June 2017, 12.32]

I found it hanging, flared,
a hearing trumpet angled from the heavens.
Spineless white.

Like the bullet ant
or the dream root from the river
(divine within)

it is more than ornament.
For unruly children and buried wives,
one week given to grow.

Pressed, chewed – so sweet!
But to eat this hollow food is to leave
all hope for home.

– Lavinia Singer

Question & Answer 2 – Lavinia Singer

Question 2

Angels the size of houses cannot hide
……..from widowed giants
…………….behind the opium of
……………………onopordum acanthium.

With hammers and mallets and whales,
……..there are excuses
…………….to shatter the crown
……………………of Cornish kings.

Have you bitten into the wrath and warfare
……..of gently sewn duvets?
…………….Lain in molten grass
……………………amongst a jury of dead roses?

In comatose sleep and glorious daydream
……..the world still pivots
…………….on a gentle axis
……………………while fairytales burn.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 2

[Full Moon
Wednesday 10 May 2017, 22.42]

Skin on the ash tree
Fur in the wound
Light shifts red
The dart hits true

No house but heaven
Not bit but swallowed
Not gentle but shocked
No sleep but slain

– Lavinia Singer

Question & Answer 1 – Lavinia Singer

Question 1

Ours is not the result of Theia
nor the comparison between
a closed fist on one side of a
map and two natural satellites
hovering over Orwell’s Japan.

Young’s old Gods are ever-
present on Rhea, plotting to
manipulate Titan, and we wait
on train times, hand held on
a journey to fling my stem cells

across the Atlantic to a shadow
dancing in the heart of Texas.
Our sacrifice is simple, give
birth to an animal or give birth
to ourselves. And all we want

are crows, the size of houses.
Where do we mark our mass
on a map? A cross to show we
were here, or some work to
leave a voice on a grave? I

swore we saw Chiron, once,
in the cancer-tinted corner of
a streetlight. We kept it quiet,
gave Goldschmidt his victory.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 1

Monday 3 April 2017, 19.39


I recognise the symptoms

lex parsimoniae

Left | right……..Set | rise


At first sight: could we be mistaken?


(a kind of paradise)

– Lavinia Singer