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This edition published in Great Britain by Flaxbooks,Storey Institute, Meeting House Lane, Lancaster, LA1 1TH.Tel
01524 62166
.www.litest.orgAll works©their respective authorsWatermark (ax
002
)©FlaxbooksAll rights reserved; no part o this publication may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, byany means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recordingor otherwise, without prior permission o the publisher andindividual creators.Flaxbooks is the publishing imprint o LitestLancaster and District Festival Ltd trading as Litest.Registered in EnglandCompany Number:
1494221
 Charity Number:
510670
Editor: Sarah HymasDesign and layout: Martin Chester at LitestPhotography: Jonathan Bean
Acknowledgements
David Borrott’s
Love-Rush 
previously published in ‘How Do ILove Thee?’Elizabeth Burns’
Vessel 
and
Horse 
previously publishedin ‘Island’;
Shakespeare Does the Cross-Bay Walk 
in ‘TheInterpreter’s House’.
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Welcome. Whoever we might be – whatever our tastes, our proclivities – it’s good to encounter new creative work. I’m glad people are doingthe work, and I’m glad people are enabling us to encounter it, onlineor otherwise. You will read poems here, written by fve writers – threewomen and two men.David Borrott’s poems concern themselves with instability. From thefgure o St Francis to the emotional and perceptual upheavals that anewborn brings, the subjects o these poems coalesce around the ideathat:We imagine a sort o securitythough most o the house is not our home.Water flls and runs through Elizabeth Burns’ poems; contained andcontainer, canal and estuary, resh- and salt-water, this element standsor what good is engaged in:making – as we on earth have always done –rom what is broken, separatesomething whole.Mark Grifths writes about ‘The Golden Lie’, whose goldenness hispoems celebrate through the accumulation o everyday detail. That wecan hold hands ‘still greasy rom the chips’ and ‘jump the ditch, landingabsolutely on our eet’ are the modest delights his poems set aboutweighing, and fnding priceless.In the darkness o Pauline Keith’s poems ‘the ghosts o heavy horses/sometimes shit’. These poems, about hidden things brought painullyto light, are pungent and moving: in them, water sluices the cobbles o the knacker’s yard and runs on to join ‘the river.../welling, silent, romthe underworld’.
Foreword
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