Fading Beehive.

Fading This is from when he was still a young boy; hip-slung, just so; nothing very much to say. Three lances of sunlight, emanating from beyond the top right-hand corner, fall forever across the photograph, piercing a number of the sitters - pupils and teachers. The headmaster (Mr. D) - front row, centre - has … Continue reading Fading Beehive.

her ghost.

still i find her, on the sill, in the fading birthday flowers, in the thirsty vase. a stray hair in the bath, her scrawl on some scrap paper. a receipt, screwed in denim. pocket and breathe for a moment, forever, her sillage as I pass the chair she favoured. i hear her songs; of course, her … Continue reading her ghost.

No wig, no gig.

"You’re telling me, when you went to church as a kid, you never got an orange with a candle stuck in it?" "An orange?" "Christmas orange." "At Christmas?" "Uh huh. With a candle." "Don't think I ever went to church as a kid." "Hmm. Well, you got this orange, okay, with a candle stuck in … Continue reading No wig, no gig.