Issue 19: Ian Cartland

the crash

the stranger, I, weaves along,

the coconut tree in his, my

fear not place, place

of no regret

for the roost of the tree crab

the tree crab, I, drops down

all a turning parliament

of vicious not wicked intent

I hear the craws my ears spill

with bright, dripping caws

his, my, radio earhole caked

and the sand combed over this

a convertible car was turned

both ways, the fearless stranger

he was moved to brushing

so he, I, say this apart

the clews both unstuck

first made as long and as ship

shaped, bend of the day

where had been a crash

but he pressed my hand, I

sad by the curve of the natural

scene, red-eyed with groynes

with reef a morning light

blessed he, ran through me

Ian Cartland was born in Derbyshire and lives in Cambridge, where he helps out a bit at poetry events. His work has been included in magazines and anthologies such as Poetry London, 3:AM Magazine, Poems in Which, Best British Poetry and, in literary critical form, Prac Crit.