hinge of laughter.

some memory of blue clay, of buttered gorse, jutting bayonet of flint, half-hidden, always just an inch away,   this very, very evening, returned again, beleaguered, beached and batchelor: palm of secret, saddened gems.   the following adornments remain abandoned on the tidal floor waiting for me to discover them -   a glass of sand, a special … Continue reading hinge of laughter.

Mirror (8): Pale Airman.

8      [photocopy of a snapshot] I cut Lillian's hair every twelfth week, dry it every sixth. It grows. I cut it. I dry it. It has become grey by increments; city pigeon to autumn noon, fading print to cigarette ash. Each accretion of tone slowly highlighting further her pink brittle cheeks, the pools … Continue reading Mirror (8): Pale Airman.

Run As Fast As You Can, Bear.

Kreuzberg. 08:00 Monday October 28th 2019. Soft electric light illuminates the calm room. Thirty-five tables. Each table set simply: some for lone diners, some for couples, a few for family; cutlery, white crockery, triangle of napkin, heavy, cool folds of cotton. Some settings will remain empty and some will be filled. I cross the wooden floor … Continue reading Run As Fast As You Can, Bear.

Prompts for future conversation.

Of clearing her father’s house in Enfield, she would only stand to say, “Have you ever tried to sell a baby grand? Or even given one away?”   After forever it was all that was left. Guess this world has little need for a baby grand beneath a paper lampshade, on the quiet parquet.   … Continue reading Prompts for future conversation.

Birdsong of The Spoons.

Despite having spent an age arranging the blind so that she could sit on the rug with her back to the sofa and watch the morning light dance within their slatted lengths, she found herself under heavy cloud, brewing, quite unable to play. She laid the cold horn on the sofa, scooped up her shades … Continue reading Birdsong of The Spoons.

re: ancient civilisations.

this autumn morning, the same, almost so, as several in childhood, spent trying not to watch the bowl of oats and milk cooling on the sill. "waiting," he told me, "is a patient game." watching vapours reach for the ceiling.   "the ancient greeks made shields from porridge. or was it the polynesians?"   he … Continue reading re: ancient civilisations.