March 28, 2012Alun Rowlands “IN WORD SHADOWSfingers cut from a glovesilver bag of box wine flowsthe weather comes inside our clotheswe mouth it to each other what we think we knowhappens when we blinkTo this dark timewe toastwith full mouthsour own cupsopen slowly touch our chins togetherRunning like dogson the sidewalkaway from empty busesjust missing nothingthe funny spellingcomes over us!With no word for helpwith no word for thankwith no word for youwe’re not surewhere the lipstick came fromwhich covers us nowand the flagthat has no top or bottom.Sisters and brothers and brothers and sisters and sisterschime into the score of the foamleft high on bank wallschime into double troublethe cloud in scaffoldinggrowing to climbshirtlesswith kickball under the shirt set looseand styrofoam destroyed in joy overpiss stinking M.C. Escher staircasesfinger snaps are where we walkAnd in the echo is terrorand down the alley the light we block precedes usand is one body,Mother of Friends,we can’t do more right than wrongwhen out of thirstwe tip toewith fingers find a windowof heatto pass through a slashed screencarrying someoneelse’s televisionour eyes will never see onBehind the knitted ski wordIs a kissWith our handWe will pay to get in” — Barry MacGregor Johnston ‘In Word Shadows’, Novel issue 1, p.12-13 Comment tags Barry MacGregor Johnston