
Number 158
by Phoebe Bowers. It heads a heavy breath An inhale exiled And awaiting Grey skies above the suspended bridge over the Severn. Rat infested. Bin bags out on the streets, their aborted insides exploded on the concrete. Terraced house terraced house terraced house terraced house terraced house. Fifty shades of brown, beige, and grey. Sunshine in the day. Thirty different corners bookended by your local … Continue reading Number 158