behind a bending fence, bowed and ivy veined, the sad garden grows, unbound, around your father's house. the vicar passes an envelope to you, pencilled with the word - piano - and begins to play something glissando. where flowers grew, fingers potted. ashes into earth and creasing paper: john 6: 1 - 14, we listened … Continue reading a continuous slide.
aired on the evening, his words are battle scarred and breathless, barely heard. but the floor, i note, begins to shadow.
It is a gorse-yellow and golden dawn over Penn Beacon. Fresh rush and suck of the shingle beneath the shallow lap waves as they reach, keel and recoil. We roll the boat from the low trailer into the sea. Ffooks and Farrow, his cousin, on one side, Sean and I on the other. When we … Continue reading Five in the lapstrake.
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