issue 4

october 2016

issue 4 - october 2016

Lower Gan Eden - Liam Hinton

The walls of her temple 
sound familiar 
in black and white
Showerhead swansong 
he holds her sub atomic
Presses her glass finger 
into ink print condensation
A southern pulse 
tongues the wrap around whip 
of the tumble dryer
Her split tile figure 
marks the air wet
 Ecstasy spills 
 from the megaphone
Lascia ch’io pianga
And into pink ears 
 hands that pluck 
from the olive tree
The Three Beggars 
absent worthies 
plagiarised constellations 
running a mouth 
over supernova fog
Eros and Thanatos 
hang umbilical 
from mothers waist
She saw her son climb 
The windowsill chips 
spat onto lavender forehead
But Handel misspelt 
Rinaldo's overture 
Syncopated on parchment 
a Lover's cock in Braille
If God won't catch him, the ground will.

Red - Liam Hinton

It's a photo
that took a lot of work to find
and was taken when we were sixteen

          By your father
                    his nerveless calloused hands
                    like skin sewn glove

          And he called me his son that weekend
                                                                     as family felt their way through high tide

                                        We are walking
                                                  my bird bones bent
                                        around your hips

We are the same height
                    on slanted ground

                                        It was taken before your anorexia
                                        and just after mine
                                        A meeting of malnourished ribs
                                                                     I hope your parents blame me

                    I'm lagging slightly behind
          like I always did

It's overcast
Like the earth was on the edge of

God's mouth stiched
          You could taste the great collapse

We both love red
We are red things
Made in red shapes
And so we wear


That weekend
you saw me naked
we all skinny dipped
Sea spray wrapped around your waist

                    I'm Irish and you're German
                                        We hit the light flat

Let me be the first to tell you
          No it's not normal
          and yes your parents are weird
                                                          Your mum's tits clapping
                                                          Your dad's dick in the swing
          The least they could do is hate their bodies like everyone else

And before you ask yes tofu is fucking gross
No one's ever been a closet vegetarian
you communist

          I feel
          pieces of me try to reform
          the curvature of your spine
          in the candlelight
          But I can't build heaven in a silhouette

          So I stalk you on Facebook instead

It's a photo of you
          and it's a photo of me
                    and it's a photo of us 
                              and were together
                                        and you are alone
                                                  and I am alone
                                                            and we are alone together

I want to be made in red with you
But I'm twisted around the highschool lifespan
It's more than fitting to leave on a rose

It's not a photo of you cutting yourself
Or us fucking
It's a photo of us
                      walking away

Contributor's Note

Liam is an actor, writer and student of Theatre and English at the University of Waikato. His claim to fame is beating Conor Maxwell in a fist fight ask him about it because it’s true. Plagiarism is bad.


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