and the arrow arched the blue and fell, their voices dimmed and faded. The wave rose silent in the bay. The needle and the vinyl braided. And supine upon the shore, the boy became very calm - a signature, a sign forever. Uneasy invitees, fingering his brow, his seams misread the message in the braille. But … Continue reading The music
Tammy is rattling. I’m not far behind her. She tells me again her feet are wet. I hear the grizzle rising in her voice as we come down on Derby Road in the morning rain. Wax Noyle and his rawboned daughter or his lover or whoever she is, shelter in a shop doorway. He wears … Continue reading Noah’s Wife.
The old man passed over the rooftops of night, the glowing shapes of light; county town and countryside. He threaded the stars of orange spangle and blue and white. There was a hum that came to him; not of electricity - because that was like kettledrums or rumbles of sheet metal thunder. This was a … Continue reading Float On.
One afternoon, a kettle faced woman and a big red man came in The Eight Kings. Big red went to the bar and kettle face came to the window and sat down on one of the stools facing the sea. He brought their drinks. She had a small white and he had a Bloody Mary … Continue reading Dogweed Insecurity.
Perhaps I'm more intrigued with the ghost of John Simon Ritchie - useless musician, drug addict, spiteful bully, sneering poster boy - than I imagine? He returns to haunt me only ever once a year; I hear his rattling padlocked chain and the drag of those stolen engineer boots before I see him. Oh, but I … Continue reading Tea Stained.
“It’s so cold I go to bed with a nipple on. I wake up with one, too.” “Just the one?” I ask. But, yeah, it has been pretty cold this week. Little Annie has been in search of a higher purpose, for some kind of meaning, for awhile now. "Something has to change." … Continue reading Askew In The Saddle.