By Hes Bradley
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Dysphoria
a mate and I shove backpacks through barbed wire to reach where rock casually changes into other rock and sea smashes into it. We dangle with the grease, the one-use BBQ, the stalk of butterfly bush. How do animals make love a verb? Fuck, the wind can hunt. I don’t want to turn down his collar but turn into him. Not harden into gneiss or dolerite. Not glisten when the sea comes up.
Hes Bradley (they/them) is a lecturer and writer living in the UK. They’ve published academic work and have poetry out or coming out with Troublemaker Firestarter, The Expressionist, Green Ink Poetry, Naked Cat Lit Mag, Neologism, Aesthetica, and Yes Poetry. You can find them at @hesbrad (Instagram) and @hesbradley (Bsky).