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.
