By Ailbhe Darcy & S.J. Fowler.
I want to believe there’s something in the bunker,
in the cowslip’s bell. stockpiles of shivery paper,
caffeine, nicotine and romance. and not just romance.
juice and doubled tongues for the scurvy and
I want a double ration: The world to keep going;
the world to end in my time. I don’t want to miss it.
have i been stung by a wasp outside
the italian takeaway under the neon sign that spells
out R O M A in pink and blue and reminds me of miami in the 1980s