EDWARD LEE - POEMS

Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths Knoll. He is currently working on a novel.
He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Lewis Milne, Orson Carroll, Blinded Architect, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.
His blog/website can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.com

​YOUR POISON FOLLOWS

If I board this plane,
they will seal the door
and rush to the sky
and I will be the furthest from you
I have ever been,

and yet,
yet, as I feel the echo
of your shudderingly shattering words
rearrange the marrow of my bones,
I do not think
that will be far enough.

​

LIVE, SIMPLY LIVE
​

We are all flashes
of lightning
across the sky
of the mind
of the world,

burning bright for mere moments
before crashing into the ground,
casting destruction 
and broken beauty
in our brief existence,

our unavoidable demise.


​

​NOT CHOSEN

I wish to sing
but there are only feathers
in my mouth,
caught between my teeth,
piercing my tongue.

Whatever tune I might have had,
I swallowed it,
possibly by accident,
possibly because a unsourced shadow
fell hard across my back
my taste buds now coated
in counterpoint lead;
a flavour that repeats on me,
repeats and repeats, 
causing me to burp,
the only sound I can make
as the conductor
lowers his baton
and consults his notes,
his tutting like a metronome 
behind his shiny teeth,
fresh feathers dancing 
across the lapels
of his angel-weaved dress-suit

​

​THE LOVER KNOWS NOT WHAT THEY SEARCH FOR

You have pulled your ribs
open so many times,
your chest no longer closes flush; 
I can see your wounded heart
as it beats 
with such obvious strain.

It is a wonder it can beat at all,
and with this thought 
I realise the reason 
you asked me
to accompany you
to this nondescript hotel room,

the lights flickering off, on,
the curtains already drawn.


​

FALL
​

What were once heaven's stars
are now dust on the floor,
still hot to the touch,
burning small holes in the stone,
immortal in their dying,
their shattered edges lethal
after their long fall
from above,

like rain
to signal the end of the world.

​