Where new writing finds its voice
Poem

Well yes, where we interface

Mark Waldron

there certainly are wobbles – the fit not being perfect. 
This strangeness comes from there, 

partly from the shock of finding it forced on us, 
and partly from finding it’s not as natural to us 

as death is. 
Yes, where we press up upon living 

there certainly are jolts, 
so that we might seem to stick for a moment 

and then jump lurchingly 
as continental plates do, catastrophically sometimes, 

and when you meet someone, in the street perhaps, 
even someone you know, whole large chunks of them 

might be torn away by this effect 
and roll to the side of the road 

and you’ll be shouting at them somewhere 
in an absolutely murdered voice, and them at you.