pink sky yellow field
moon sails pale as paper
over trees which haven’t heard its spring yet
(the bite would take your nose)
it stirs something in me
something ancient which tugs at my throat
at my belly
says Come
It’s This Way

New Review of Black Milk (pub. Albion Beatnik)

Nicola G: f**king genius. It’s brilliant, beautiful, heart breaking, illuminating, inventive. My breath was taken so many times. GENIUS!

buy it: http://www.albionbeatnik.co.uk/product/black-milk-olivia-stewart-liberty/

it might look like this when you piss off god:
pinned to the dust by her boot
toe heel black and business either side of your pretty throat
flaxen locks gone haywire
mala all om namah and counting
it might look like that
who knows ?

it looks like this :
a row of dots which shout out joining
it looks like my grandmother
still tall at 90
still beautiful
the one I haven’t seen in years
standing in the cold on her balcony
facing south to where the old grey river leans
bent to feed a bird
the fat brown wife of the sleek black one
her hair slightly lifting
it looks like reaching across the miles
across the years to ask her if she’d mind
if i stood with her while
the mountains i am going to are the ones
people have always gone to
to escape the constant sound of
everything always wanting
to find the thing which doesn’t want, nada
it looks like – will I need my jumper ? – home

sometimes out there on the ring road
when it’s spring but not yet warm
and the day is done but it’s not yet night
sometimes out there
when the trees are blind and
i’ve got myself untethered
from time and from the phone
from thinking even
and i’m there driving
with all the others
and we’re all driving
around sunday night and what monday’s going to mean
around the rows of houses and
all our lives lived back to back
through the months and
past the robin pert and standing
on the handle of a spade
around the pennies saved for rainy days
it’s all so fucking beautiful
this driving – all of us
around our inevitable descent into decrepitude
and sometimes out there on the ring road
my arms dissolve
the road goes blue and
there’s an ecstasy in the hum
and there we all are turning rings round being
vanished into the nub of what is left
before we’re born and when we’re gone
the thing which hides in every single thing and lasts forever
just turning circles around it
around the great plug
before we glug glug down into it
sucked into the ecstasy of everything

i will fritter my life
on tutus on glitter
on pets and on picnics
on round the world tickets
on flat soya whites
and organic cigarettes and
circles of thought around
cows coming home
on tantrums and true love
on dreams of a house
and i’ll fritter my life
– all of it –
here in my hands
my head on the floor
– take it it’s yours –
unutterably forever
this whole frittering life
on you