28 pp; risograph printing; yellow endpapers by Clare Sikorska; wire stitch
Engraved to thee thy origin, camps & witness to the contours:
Of your parent's love still developing towards whole, I saw no developments:
Outside the tightest restriction, and if the tenant of your heart here persists,
It's of red's elegance, pouring from you now as a yellow shirt's redeemed cuff.
Contentment hides in the fringe of Content's project, where life was structured by Neil Sedaka 45s. You start the year off fine, and then the poems' honourable characteristic is the ease with which they advertise themselves. Like the lover whose hurt cannot even be outdone by the hurt they would never have done to them, they appear to struggle with feelings of strangeness and awkwardness. Without doubt these poems are unreasonably attached to mortality: they will remain equally intelligible for 3 centuries. It must be expected that their gaudiness and inane phraseology will not exactly suit accurate taste. But then this is desire, which never will let anything stand in the way of its gratification.