The back lane, this new-year dawn, is littered, bleakly - tumbled bins, spent bottles, knuckled tabs, sodden boxes; hound shites, plastic wraps, a quilted headboard, yellowed hand towel; wrapping-paper tumbleweeds troubling parked cars; a bloody gown of herring gull (gutting something); and the last, the very last, or the first, Christmas tree, skulking and skittling … Continue reading The Wronged Tree.
The smeared sights, the bright lights – Felling, Hebburn, Pelaw - rushed the windscreen and nearly disappeared into the rear view. Dave passed the patchwork allotment in Jarrow. Sad flags, a surprising number – a Jack, a George, a rainbow, an A in a circle – hung there over wet sheds and plots from plum … Continue reading Looker.
He wore his clown face – brimming with big boned and jumbled features – and smiled. But his bug-blue eyes, when you looked into them, held only reflections of sad and shaded river pools in some other autumn, and beneath the surface shadows and shapes shifted and were unseen again as the beds eddied. In … Continue reading Again, back
i'm looking at death, you're looking at life. but if we could both meet in the middle somewhere then we will both get to live a little. the important thing is genes, i guess. i cry. look at our fingers. *looks at fingers* makes me think about life and death and everything between. we laugh … Continue reading between.
i've smoked all the wine and drank all the baccy. and it's got to mean something, but it's ten thirty eight, still early. i may just stay up 'til dawn. (Could've worked better, somehow, with 'dusk'. But that would've been crazy!)
Paul, being her lover, tried, with his voice, to rouse her. She'd liked his voice. But not so much now it seemed. He spoke her name with a frog in his throat. We giggled. Sally did nothing. Then he was nose to the carpet, ear next to her's. He stroked her hair. He spoke her … Continue reading Twice (For Some Reason).