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).