Two Poems by Isabelle Kenyon

Sofa appeals

I saw it             mildly              impartial
sitting pretty               sitting privileged
ribs flicker on the screen                   sprawled
mouths                       I spoon the last cream and contemplate
bodies forming graveyards where they lie
dusty dogs    my own peanut-curled, special treatment
born into a rich soil, you have to be born into money
to survive the winter.

Monday: Surrey Canal / Saturday: Salsa strip

the water sheen, trembling cavernous, spirals elope, bouncing off the surface. Boats catch, stir a frenzy / pointed feet, mouths       parched speaking sweat shared spilling light bodies heavy filthy/undulations, crumpled waves. Washes over you, intoxicated limbs entangle numbers exchanged/skimming stones magenta pebbled/smiles, cheeks/duck feet webbed lolling above, drying in the winter breeze, blowing bubbles underwater warm comfort bodies - close, close colliding shaking light through fingers spread: webbed light catches.


Isabelle Kenyon is the author of This is not a Spectacle and Digging Holes To Another Continent (Clare Songbirds NY). Soon to have collections published with KFS Press and with Ghost City Press. She is the editor of Fly on the Wall Press and has been published internationally.

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