This poem is taken from Stand 220, 16(4) November - December 2018.

Ian Ganassi Poem
An Easy Fix

Let me give you a hand up.

I haven’t seen a pile like that in quite a while.

The entire population of the seventh-floor smoking lounge.

It was getting even closer in there.

Fight or flight for instance. No matter how much you have.

Convinced they hold the morally aesthetic high ground
And that they can prove it by ‘staring you out of countenance.’

One thing I can tell you is you’ve got to be free.

Which might not be in the papers, for the most part.

But let’s get this straight once and for all.

Looking for a chink or kitchen sink to come bubbling up through.

And a hard-boiled egg.
Make that two hard boiled eggs.


The current is always looking for a way down.
It’s been through me a few times.

It’s this preoccupation with the end of the line or night.

Must be the season of the witch.
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