Letter To Barnacle

letters to b1

I wrote a poem called Bed Sex, for the Glasgow based zine, Letters to Barnacle, which is inspired by James Joyce’s filthy letters to Nora Barnacle, check it out, the whole zine is dead rude.

Bed Sex

I dream I fuck an old woman and
 wake up more anxious than usual,
 perhaps because she’s looking away and as
 I spin her round her bum and boobs are
 so soft that she’s not an old
 lady now at all.

Next, a paternal presence with hyena mane
 closes down his shop so we can do
 it, but the customers keep on coming in
 and in and we feel guilty.

Tomorrow I am going to a fake forest, fearlessly
 to be touched as if there was no word like ‘touch’
 and no red, scratchy body either.


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