Teaser: Philtre One noontide the shadow when it ought to retreat cast long the mouth’s burden shaded the foretip. Its clouds drizzled to intoxicate with spit enough to aedict I drugging, sept more off lung than lung without I, shadow to my stone, stone to my temple, in blessed hushing, shed qalamadh from the blood. Dragn to hand, haunting the tongue, misting throat, vaporous song I coilt as breath, knot’d as froth, bud hereon, sprouting talk in the iternal shade of a career drug its juice in the blood turbult with stringy fibres, like liquid-rays from a churning sheet of pyre, stitch my flame to the lung. Contents: 66 poems