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Anxious Pancakes / Sat Where My Bones Are | By Josh Hallam

Updated: Sep 4

Anxious Pancakes


Petra in marmite

Cantona kick to the dimples 

toast in the dryer

hands in the air

balloon in a nostril

sharing platter of seafood for one

bathrobe tie in knots

the soft belt around a testicle

Octopus in a sprite can

a wingless angel

just add water

powdered to mix

ready-made batter

to swallow 

dance all night with

like an impossible swing set

pendulum desk toy

school trip rubber

in the canal is the band stand collapsing wet in the 

storm

Pissing it up the plasterboard

Monopoly with the inlaws

snogging in the pandemic

betting on the wrong horse

living in the wrong flat

the belly of a vomiting whale

beach salt sand marked rotten

with a fabric wanker

trained as an electrician

colour blind to most

cut the red wires first

burst the dam

Nuclear power will win

snip the dorsal fin from the last dolphin

for pot noodle juice

Get learning how to swim

Sat Where My Bones Are


I am sat where my bones are for a change being explicably brought to small tears. The euphorics in my headphones are touching my brain directly and a volume that I don't have to consider or tweak. I have the same aches and notice similar worries but am able to understand the semi circle of vision in front of me Like a snowglobe Able to hold focus not to a specific object but the busy scene of British summer  Normal people sat in off-circles on grass tossing children in the air  teenagers concealing kronenbourg Long shadows and omnipresent clouds and I feel the sting of lemon juice horizontal across my eyes as I wince  as my throat swells and I yawn through relaxation and gently cry Today I have been me  Not an idealised version constrained by the anxious potential for greatness Nor particularly virtuous, generous , wise, kind or connected just alive  and located  Underweight At risk of taking off as always but happy to be home  Loved and loving to and from even my drained and sugarless limbs There are horizontal lines across my face Eyes squeezed  Mouth flattened and widened while my tongue raises in my mouth and  Sinuses glow with orange They could be full of cancer  Seratonin  Or just the smell of today


Josh is a working class writer from Derby. His day job is working in refugee solidarity (previously in Calais for 3 years, but now in London). His work often explores topics of racism, self-loathing Britishness and mental health among other things.

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