Saturday 16 April 2022

One Poem by Paul Tanner


why don’t you get a kindle?


give me pages piss-yellow with smoke

give me cigarette burns leaving holes in salient dialogue  

give me the carcass of a bug on the first line of chapter 5

give me pretentious student notes pencilled in the margins

give me a fascinating sex shop receipt as a forgotten bookmark halfway through

give me dust from forgotten rooms –

skin shards from forgotten tombs,

I’m caressing the dead –

give me dried granite snot shards poking out like green braille,  

give me a broken spine

give me torn pages

give me blood stains

papercut me – I’ll bleed on it too

for the next reader to drink

withhold missing pages – I’ll deign to fill in the blanks


sand from a beach I’ve never been to.

juices from a body I’ve never met

until now:


go anywhere – do anything – be anyone

with a book.


be us:





turning the page

in our next collective chapter.

Paul Tanner is barely qualified for minimum wage, and he’s allergic to cheese for god’s sake. His cat knows your sins. 

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