Although we’ve bought the market,
the meat cutters still cheat us
by putting their thumbs on the scales.

I stare down at the clouds in a puddle. I’m thinking it’s easier to buy a gun around here than find a job.

We’re so poor we comb dumpsters
for teabags to re-use. The chill
of early winter dark appalls us
with cries of ghouls in the suburbs
and groaning in city basements
where rapists imprison young girls,
but we scavenge undeterred.

Ukpa tree ukpa tree

I know your strange story
Of how you brought worry
To our fishermen
Who fell you by the fen

Sarah Edwards lives in Montreal, Canada for the moment. Since she was a child she has been utterly confused by her surroundings and as she grew up that translated into abstract/experimental images and words that results in visual poetry.This work is her ink drawings digitally worked on.

I want to keep you hidden, Jack Kerouac,
From all the bubblegum tween mindless twittering masses
Who will dissect your quotes and personalize them
On their Facebook pages, and make them seem easy to understand, and accessible,
Even though they’ve never bothered to get past page fifty
In On the Road and have never heard of Tristessa—

Don’t tag yourself my friend
When on my way in peace I drive
You bounced out from a hole of dirts
Yourself adorned like a palm tree
Stands on my way and me you halt