Alice, Maub & Alvert by Tim Goldstone

All three lived together in

that stuffy stone and corrugated iron

Welsh cottage at the foot of

a scrappily-wooded hill,

born there, never left there, died there

Chef’s Privilege by D.S. Maolalaí

The publisher had sent my book covers that morning

by email. Final proofs. I sent back that they were good

and bragged about it on the internet. We were in Paris

in a flat on Rue de Belleville, the 11ieme aron and 6 floors walk

up. It was beautiful. From the window to the horizon there was nothing but roof. Fallon had to

The room is dark,

Like a very dark room.

Like that really bitter dark chocolate

Defeat fatigue’s cry that soars above you

High. Victory and loss are fleeing

Your purpose, now complete. Temporary.

You look above you at the blood-drenched sky

We share this space, this

same space, occupied by you

and I. The same time,

You can keep

That manufactured peg self you have inside you

The one that fits all of the holes

They tell you to fit into

And now

Lions and shadows

labyrinthine emergence

voice in the chasm