Greetings, Lads! from Cork

Awake. A rotten gather in the soft
of my throat. Steam. In the hall that leads
to the kitchen. Mucus. A pumpkin’s innards
for my internals, a green pumpkin, zombie
pale knives are thoughts varying their inches.
	       sport has done this to me 	   their party  
I push into the tissue with all my thoughts 
I am awake. My breath is rural. There is so much
steam on this floor that I could blow into the cloud
heat in front of me 	      an oneiric gap
between the cough 	      & my mucus jade
& veined pale as-dead the syrup 	           burns the men 
arrive from the stout & the rugby &
ruin everything

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Dylan Stallard is a poet based in Canterbury, England. His work has appeared in Propel, Tears in the Fence, Confluence, and Litro. He has recently completed an English and American Literature MA at the University of Kent.