Thank you to everyone who entered this year’s Poet’s Prize, run in partnership with CHEERIO, and open, for the first time, to poets worldwide. Today we’re announcing the...
when walt whitman spokea multitudes
he meant did he not that within each ovus
an obsequious beer soaked indie boy broods
about steppin in front of a fuckin bus
t burrow down intae the freckled id
where coffee torns t treacle on the hotplate
and borst fegs are embedded in the carpet
what i really mean is that ad hate
to be that kyid again rollin along
crash barriers at some gig in the union
while the country is sold by the furlong
drinkin what i made at my forst communion
on a nightly basis then starvin maself
of breakfast & lunch & good mental health
