Teasing out a tune from a borrowed horn, in a rented room, in Kreuzberg. I breathe in the perfume of the afternoon - I taste bottled beer and oranges. The shadows rise as the sunlight falls. The sparrows in the scaffold sing. In 10962. Two punks sitting on a painted wall - … Continue reading Postcard From Kreuzberg.
scratches in the sunlight/…cassettes Jackdaws & witches tapping watches, stripping you to the bone. Some still can't say your name without stretching all the wrong vowels. I hear your voice. I'm ankle-deep in bluebells. My red penknife unfolds, I'm scratching your initials. Trapdoors every Monday morning. Cornflowers, my boots are soiled. The grey … Continue reading Jackdaws & Witches.
It was chalked on the bog wall and spread quickly round school - a whisper to a chant in the playground. “Pippin’s mum’s only got one tit!” Odd. • We’d played darts at Pippin’s last summer. The house on the corner, halfway up Steep Street. I kept score. We smoked his mum’s cigarettes, drank his … Continue reading Withered Apples.
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