Poetry: “On Tirelessly Bashing Elbows Into The Stillness of The Bar” by Lee Hodge

Today it feels as if the impulse of checking

My email on my phone has been reduced

To the firing of a single synapse maybe

That is a deadly topography


The matrices of sensation for example

Sticky (being one)

I was on the floor

And the floor was on me and


Of performance art inexplicably

Cropping up like a cold appendage from the grave

The casement I want to

Touch is the ground the vein