Andy Miller

There is that sense of extremely, almost, almost kind of the star cadders of Stella Gibbons' Cold Comfort Fart.

Very, very threatening.

But the poetry is, the poetry I think is amazing.

And it's often very beautiful.

Another quick one, just to give you a sense of the weird way that she enables, somehow enables you to believe that there is a Civil War soldier who is also weirdly Elvis.

This is called Lonesome Tonight.

Gorwoods, hark the greening of the earth.

Curled ferns yet to uncurl.

Hark the singing of the birds.

Girl yearns yet to ungirl.

Beach and Olla, Woken Birch, Biddle, Bullhead, Squirrel's Dray, Willow Aspen, Elder Larch, Soldier King on Maundy Day.

This is from April, sort of Easter.

In her satchel, Pepsi fizz, peanut and banana crusts, for this man her shepherd is, parts her bready lips of love.

Are you Elvis?

Are you God?

Jesus sent to win my trust.

Love me tender, are his words.

As I have loved you, so you must.

Thrice she draws her lips to kiss, mouthing for his mouth in vain.

Thrice her lonesome kisses miss.