Wir wollten nur by Paige Murphy

Photo by Walter Lee Olivares de la Cruz

Wir wollten nur.

Aspiration: wooden floorboards / lack of wooden floorboards
are the gallows. I suck the breast of a better woman and form
a figure eight, borne into the sofa. The life of objects:
effete tongue hung coyly, out mouths on soporific meat.
The life of the land of objects: it’s low mists, it’s high mounds.
Like my personal love of a wanting, beyond the bounds of immiseration.
The richest price: to pay in the matter of principle not
being one’s exclusive domain. Making a little protest,
making a statement. You are living in a country
with latent tendencies, lines of force-fulness, milks that muddle,
and curdle on sight. You are living in a country, it is not land.
Exchange enchantment for sobbing rage repudiate the body’s score,
half truth / half necessity. No chance for religiosity: the quiet life
of small windows, meditative folds, bunch and gather skirts.
The life of - blood drains out, caverns us in enormous lack,
of minutes and pence immensable debt...in the pit of the stomach,
torn soles, low sunlight. Won’t a garden, or fruit so English
ever exist.

Paige Murphy is a poet, abolitionist and hysteric living in London.