Tapping at the keyboard tiles - in the glow of the evening, pausing only for some hours; once to find inspiration in an unexpected shower and once again, to take a bath - these selected letters became these collected words; becoming a poem called steaming bao buns.
I purr her name deliciously, but dare not turn the page to read the words, preferring to believe the past is present in the future. I heard her playing yesterday beneath the window, but the room, of course, was empty; not even the piano. * She walked among the flowers depicted on the wall. She … Continue reading The Glass.
05/11/73 (Waddon) Guy Fawkes' Night - which will add some vague, visual and historical, romantic poetics to an otherwise quite commonplace tale - I discovered a cat, a tiny, shadow of a cat, on the front door mat. She mouthed a yellow miaow, which is cat chat for thank you (I picked up some cat, … Continue reading Cavalier With A Candle.
nickreeves 