Wolf

In her first collection of poetry, Elizabeth Morton writes of what it is to be on humanitys outer rim writing the noise in her head. She writes as Wolf: barking consonants, mouthing a rubbish bag, in love; and is lupine in her everyday life too, running away under the broken yolk of moon, burying bones (her own).

On the rim of things Elizabeth writes with disturbing clarity of a renewed world where a matador weeps in the bullring and blackberries burst like bloodclots. These are poems that crawl into your lap and howl.

Featured in the 29 May 2017 New Zealand Newsletter.
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