Paul Archer Biography

Don’t drive a car. Dreaming up a poem
is not compatible with judging
distances and steering straight.
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If this poem came from IKEA
It would be a flatpack poem
You'd have to assemble it
In your own time
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It had climbed from the lavender
Under the open window
And now creeps along the sill,
I think of Hughes' thought-fox
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I’d like to join this gang
Of poets, their books
Tower above me – beckoning…
As I pull one out
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Dark suddenly, the day's circulation choked off.
Dizzy carlights, a wipered transparent
Half-moon dissolves.
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