Brian Flaherty, New Zealand Bio: Brian is one of three editors of the highly regarded New Zealand Poetry and literature site "Trout".  Blackmail Press regards  Trout as one of the finest electronic poetry publications online.

Bracelet (for Ed) It was a cataclysm. Thosands injured. the final death toll unknown. Rescue teams were called for, soup kitchens erected. Five months they slept on the street, pissing in the rubble. Her neighbour, the butcher, all his family lost, would play in the evenings on a cracked saz, one string missing. kesik, hoyrat, bozlak uzunhava. Till his skin would tear, leaving a pattern of blood petals on the varnished mulberry. One evening when the autumn stars ringed the town, the saz disintegrated in his hands and he wept uncontrollably, wrapping the strings around his wrist. Around and around. Cutting off the flow. Hair At that time my life was empty of inspiration. I found myself in an unfamiliar city, hair, grown too long, reaching almost to my shoulders. Seeing a woman, people rushed up to me in the street, meaning to injure me, or discredit me to the police. A hot wind rose suddenly, sapping all remaining strength, slapping the faces of passersby with a swirling dust. A call to prayer wavered across the rooftops, arousing a strange feeling of intoxication... My worried friend approached from an alley. Beckoned me into a sandalwood doorway. It is not safe here. Come. Come. Locomotive This living is made of inseparable things. At a junction in the forest, a signalman stands to attention on an upturned bucket. Green flag raised above turbaned head, red by his side. The locomotive slices open morning like fresh papaya, spinning wheels in concentric circles - sequence and consequence. The woman, all confidence lost in language, repeats herself: jamais, jamais, jamais. Her feet bandaged with newspaper, her bright eyes rimmed with charcoal. I would like to make sense of these monsoon humours, the rough weather of our bodies, but am defeated by the problem of connections. My hands alone pretending wisdom, hum the engine's metal paradise. All works Copyright Brian Flaherty

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BMP nzpoetsonline