See my fingers
see theyre black
see theyre burnt
(the flesh, the yellow fat rendered from the white bone)

Head is cracked: grey jelly boils
(soup of the head of a long pig)

An eye turns
(squeezed like soft fruit)

A pickled tongue
(vinegar and sweet herbs)

Bloody semen pools in the pit of the stomach
(lies like sauce on a thigh)

Ground under the feet is a block
(a grin from a second mouth)

Poet bleeds from many wounds
(poem: eaten by many mouths)

Riley Tench 1976/2014

When you see the title Peterborough Poets — that is Riley’s creation. I commenced this trophe of the blog not only to highlight all the wonderful poets I interacted with but to focus attention on Riley and the impact he had. Riley did not create the Peterborough Poets — but he laid the table they we sat at and dined at … and … he sat at the centre. Riley loved poetry — wm

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