Ed Garland


a guaranteed presence, a flattened wave of gloss flowing always over not all of the interior – scupper the fat chance of detecting the nice to detect – provide a useful phenomenon to aid meditation but – input being no predictor of output – habits, tendencies – a large yes, a useful thud – not for hereby officially everyone – conjunction with tonal abrasion therapy – less than 50% cotton – planet are these people – a chorus rubbed into the gums or grey area classics under the tongue – Logos, Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith – yearns, craves, on a threshold below which it never – Bang & Olufsen impossibility – inheritance, theft, and accidental acquisition – a parked whine, a stuck sting – the curve and thrust of lips – likelihood of irregular gobbling – emitting bright wire from the ears – renovated in poor taste – considerably more irksome – mist being visible silence the last thing he insisted – looped snarls as declarations of agreement – conjunction with sine clusters, low frequency phase-bathing, ambient tendrils or sludge curtains – persisting through every interaction and lack of interaction – supervision of a proper chief – lucid, but lacking acoustic wealth – more than 100 days, consult Mumdance

Ed Garland’s writing has appeared in Antic, The Found Poetry Review, and A Glimpse Of. He lives in Wales, and is studying for an MA in Creative Writing at Aberystwyth University.


by Ed Garland

Water is perfect and toast isn’t too bad and I actually quite like being hungry. I read that somewhere: “I actually quite like being hungry”. A food writer wrote it one Sunday or I was hallucinating. I’ve been saying it to all the parts of myself to see if any of them will take it up as a mantra.

More than I want to eat I want an email to arrive with a hoped-for response to a long-ago request. Doesn’t matter which one of the plenty it is. My hopes rest on everything. They’re large, there’s nowhere else they could go. After the water there’s coffee if I’m lucky, which I am, so there is. The unlucky me would disagree, but I’m not listening and wouldn’t listen and haven’t got where I am today by listening, it gives you tinnitus. My stomach shrugs like it’s not my friend. If I could only change one thing about my life, I probably wouldn’t bother. One year, I thought I was becoming something.

WORDS-LINKS: I devoured a bird / There is no “me” to speak of


by Ed Garland

Hello he drooled – wet flurry of bland magic clutching tremendous whatever below a lot of and-thens – a row of soggy tufts above the idea of doing something. Some strenuous tomorrows later we flat-mouthed see-you-arounds.