“Pull,” “The Fall,” and “Moth”

Photo via Unsplash+


Unsure how many lives I’ve taken.

Hornets, spiders, the boy hardened – unbelonging

in the furling roots.

But this isn’t about the bodies,

it’s their shadows, seeping through the openings,

weighing the bones with dark.

Every tool I have is designed to part,

cleave, separate the feral mass, pulling at the heft of things.

A destroying. A wake.

Beneath the foot: an ant,

searching in the goring light. I press down, crushing

another skeleton, soundless,

colour hooked to the expanse of me.

I am all the things I’ve taken, sopping umbra

beneath the heel of God.

The Fall

the body closesslowly

no such thing as mercygod

appearingas water in the lungs

i have remade myselfinevitable

with all thissticky blood


like fallinglike language

hook-pulled from wet throat


some boys are born


glinting through skin

pulled open by early


armour enamelling

the bodythese

boys take like fire

like water carving

the world’s bone

to change is to die

a little moreso

tired of being afraid

these boys carry

their weight softly

moving through dust

like a mothnever

long enough to matter

always desperate to

find the light

About the Author

Blake Auden

Blake Auden is a poet and author based in Brighton, UK. He has been featured in Forbes, Metro, The Bookseller, Book Riot, The Economic Times, Sussex Life, Coast Magazine, The Mirror and scores of others. He is a winner of the Button Poetry Short Form Prize, and the judge for the The Moth 2023 Poetry Prize.