Poem: ‘Nap’
Chris Andrews, 10 September 2009
A ten-minute Jesuit nap with shoes on releases the hypnagogic sentences mimicking the rhythms of sports commentary, morphing darkly into a story like this: In the sunless world where we’d arranged to meet everything’s lit from within and space has nerves that pass through your throat (if you slide along them like a curtain ring it will hurt the next day) but it turned out to be...