Mabon

‘should the poem be the noise of its own signal, or a social space in which down is just as good as up and turns like a life can into a song about fucking, heading north, with a bicycle on a train, inside the cycle of violence and in unpunctuated time, feeling the air getting cold but telling it like it is the way almost any poetry worth its salt that salts its wounds will do, then it will do what this beautiful, committed book does, knowing what a spiral is, and how to sing it like a cycle.’
– Danny Hayward