Jenny Allan

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“My miscalculation
1 + 1 = 11 breeds discontent with the power to one, …”

Name me a number
that listens

(add add add)

to the voice of irrationality.

Answers on a postcard, in time
for the last show of crossed fingers counted
upon. Years

know better than to rely on luck: a
consecutive life, we
deduce, delivers
us to an age.

Yet some totals unearth less
cover: your ears for example.

“You find yourself in a position of no escape, released from ‘as the crow flies’, because you are not a crow.”

Wings beat on stony ground. Is it callous to gather ammunition? A store whose front shows no wares, only ‘stuff’ or padding, sells itself long. And all the time I imagined you from a distance, short and direct. It came to mind that being airborne discolours darkness, but only while I wear a blindfold.


If you were a crow, and I mended your wings with sticky tape, would the glue weigh you down? or would you welcome the humidity.

Jenny Allan lives in England and expresses her angle of movement from 'a to a' by blogging at two (recently) interconnecting blogs, Intermittent Voices & and, in fall.

Her work was recently published in Sidebrow.

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