The cornfields are rustling.
The windows are wide open to an empty space.
I want you to know about the black cat (loves the lap).
Come home every weekend and dance to sweet tunes.
Seawater running across every last fibre.
————————————
The landscape of Nine Lives Issue One is the reeds by the river that sing and play, red ochre undergrounds, winter bleeding into spring. In this first issue, our poets have extended a hand into their own internal worlds, playing host to us as we home in the warm spaces between the full stop and the next line. For them, the alphabet is a playground and we are joining them in hide and seek - searching secret sunlight and revealing written rituals.
The cornfields are rustling.
The windows are wide open to an empty space.
I want you to know about the black cat (loves the lap).
Come home every weekend and dance to sweet tunes.
Seawater running across every last fibre.
————————————
The landscape of Nine Lives Issue One is the reeds by the river that sing and play, red ochre undergrounds, winter bleeding into spring. In this first issue, our poets have extended a hand into their own internal worlds, playing host to us as we home in the warm spaces between the full stop and the next line. For them, the alphabet is a playground and we are joining them in hide and seek - searching secret sunlight and revealing written rituals.
