Emma Lew

A bit of space and peace are good for writing poetry. I like to feel warm, so a small electric heater should be blowing on my ankles.

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Original voices are always slippery to describe. The familiar weighing mechanisms don’t work very well when the body of work floats a little above the weighing pan, or darts around in it. As in dreams, a disturbing familiarity may envelop the work with an elusive scent. It is no different for poetry than for ...

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Drive one nail out with another,that’s our only hope.
We can’t live any more like birds on a branch,
because the murderous past never stops,
not even at night.

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I left anyway, in spirit
dreamed I was living my own life
my mind was on exits, I tried to buy the truth
some nights until I ran out of dark

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