A poem by Paul Stephenson
from issue 95
A TONIC OF STONES
Ones you stumble across, right there looking stony. Humble stones, standing alone. Take stones in Umbria where summer intones without umbrellas. Stonking stones drunk on sun, in their oneness stunned, a stone stoned. Stones like nests for pebbles that revel in the stonic quality of their cold. Your toes reading out sentences of stones…
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