Andy Spragg



That exile that becoming vigil

a lurching imposition on

the world – ice cream in

great scoops from that house

on the hill, in the park, in

love with this section

disarrayed by the heat

must be much to triumph

at locating Ornette’s suite

crowd chatter as ascending

scale or sacrament or ashes

wrote home to the beck and call

of others – things are terrible here

do not come. Things are sometimes


my best friend’s house


An owl - one of those - oh again.

Here it is, all talk of fortitude,

alert in a moment. A bargaining

quid, the shallow step in snow.

Imprint in a solid state after all,

wind it up – glib –

then comes a sun, a fizz on the rim.

Chirrup a shade and

over this season, oh and another one,

this timely one, catching a break.

Andrew Spragg was born in London and lives there. Recent books include Tether//Replica(Sprialbound/Susak Press, 2015), OBJECTS (Red Ceiling Press, 2014), A Treatise on Disaster(Contraband Books, 2013) and To Blart & Kid(Like This Press, 2013). A new book Now Too How Soon is forthcoming with Contraband Books.