•   March 17 2014 // poetry   •

An excerpt from Standard Twin Fantasy 


We go about our business like we’re not being watched. Such rooms
do not exist: where shadows designate the villain, curtains part
to reveal a screen on which red curtains ripple. And what
should she be called, the woman framed always in the window,
in the television dust? Rooms that are the provinces of ruined jokes.
From which the afterlife appears as an ordinary street.
Where detectives go, for practice, between cases.


There was a time when headlights lit us up like guilt. What
the cameras asked, we answered. There was a time when such
heroines were punished. When we say we need your help,
we mean it’s more than most men can afford. When
we offer you a peach, it is in black and white. When we say
our husband, we mean our dead husband. See the suburbs
in our sunglasses: in permanent night, in Italian night.


Standard Twin Fantasy is published this month by egg box, in the f.u.n.e.x series. View the trailer here. Sam Riviere’s collection is 81 Austerities (Faber & Faber), which won the Felix Dennis Forward Prize for Best First Collection.