As he nears the end of his degree, Jay Meros looks back on three years of fast food (through haiku)

The anniversary of Plath’s death is a chance to reflect again on the reciprocity of these two factions

Get yourself to a real live speaking words event

We are whole countries caught in cotton

…that this pissy and ungourmet coffee undercompensates for a last night on the tiles and the bourbon with the boys.

Fourteen lines rotate like a weather vane

Closer by the rain

The cotton mill roar in his voice

Nothing is spoken

This is Manchester

And dry toast, and hardbook books

Each day opens slowly | but the nights are folded up | and concentrated.

On Sunday night we howl