Like a snowfox
it stampedes.
A mass panic of legs
after the flame festival.
Language moves like a landslide,
without vocabulary.
A love sperm will not go
into the test tube.
Baby was waiting, looking for
mother. The wetland was boiling.
The pain was worthy of the lamb
sacrificed.
Like a lantern, herpes zoster, burns.
The ganglia in memory of sick embrace.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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