Poem In Which I Up The Ante

On mornings of summons for slandering glaciers
I hole-bolt my narrow margin of feint-lined symmetry,
one hip-flask fancier walloping it clean away. Those days
of gutsy innings, I might play Mah Jongg with mud wrestlers
or ride hotshod, a renegade gonzo packing punches into boxes,
agog at the croc as it pelotons past, fast horizontal question marks
of shave-legged hunchbacks blurring by regardless. That’s often when
I go up a gear, global-position a mangy beach raddled by gangsters,
mongeese grouped in corners, then, rummaging the pant drawer,
scrum sudden into a laden fleet of pick-up trucks, live louche,
perturbed by a unique surge and smitten with wretch-razzle,
garner deserved accolades, place a daisy in lackadaisical.
Afterwards, I’m a sugar fondu sat decoding vibrations,
marmalading the thick-cut moment, vituperatively.
Paul Stephenson

Coming soon in Poems in Which Issue 4

The editors are delighted to announce the contributors for Issue 4:

Lutz Seiler translated by Alexander Booth

Melissa Lee-Houghton

Mark Waldron

Abigail Parry

Emma Hammond

Bobby Parker

Anat Zecharia translated by Irit Sela

Josephine Corcoran

Dollie Stephan

Samuel Prince

Francine Elena

Nicola Gledhill

Fiona Moore

Paul Stephenson

John Canfield

Alexander Speaker

Martha Sprackland

Eireann Lorsung

Joey Connolly

Anna Selby

Sarah Wedderburn

Karl Smith

Giles Goodland

and new artwork from Sophie Gainsley