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Fred Spoliar

the ice crystal now

 (february 2018, after CAConrad)



      february hail falling

1 glim of ice in my hand

and i’m suddenly a tunnel trained

 on the total loss

 held in the ice crystal




   a man stops to beg for change

shows me hands heavy with swelling

   asks if i’m ok

his wide hands hold me i’m melting




          hope does

    it does inhere

 in the water cycle

as clemency

     spring’s variegated leaves

        reaching out to glacial distance

    the isotherm’s sweet resting breath


              ‘-but not for us’

the ice wetting my palm




kill what feels bigger than you

kill it with your car

get the shears let’s go out

trunkful cellophane tropical fruit

fuck fuck keep stabbing this billboard




of the industrial


of boiling

and skimming

today’s desires

                        of which


                        grief is





                                                     then gliding


                                              a dream in aspic      




hooking to what’s lost

rewild is a trance word

felt down on the nape


(smell-of-pine-sap dream)

(distant-wolf-howl dream)

(world’s-embrace dream)


when i meet a climate scientist

she says ‘you can’t hate us’

‘we’re such idiots’

‘I love you’   ‘all’

‘this boundless love’

‘but no hope’

Fred Spoliar lives and writes in Norwich. An artist's book with photographer Joseph Glover is available on request from (instagram

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