This poem is taken from Stand 238, 21(2) July - September 2023.

Tim Relf I’m hardly the first to write
of how extraordinarily orange an orange can be
or of how the word orange barely does an orange justice.

So. Another poem about the inadequacy of words, is it? I actually set out
to say something else, but seeing as we’re on the subject let me speak

of a space where a new word’s needed: that feeling, yes, when you’re killing
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