First the milonga, then the tango.

All the guests had left the table, and indeed the bright room, to dance to a quintet that had struck up, with some vigour, a milonga out in the blue stone courtyard beneath the carved moon. Their chairs were left all at odds, scattered, vacated; pushed away from the table. Only the two of them … Continue reading First the milonga, then the tango.

A Perfectly Good Table.

Skirt gathered at her knees, chin on a table, she’s asking now something of the ear of a wild-bearded man. She sweeps her hair from her cheek. He appears not to listen. His black leather cowboy hat and bike jacket speak sinister wisdoms. There is a tiny gunmetal death’s head pinned, longtime, to the lapel. … Continue reading A Perfectly Good Table.

Jigsaw Cousin (it rained that night)

[cut-up postcard poetry] [paper scissors glue] [fictional piccolo creative] I bought a stack of National Geographic at Southwell market from a man who sold old mirrors, and reworked frames, among other things - including, an accordion of pale spines: Nabokov, Orwell and Greene (clasped at each end in a heavy bronze palm); old slates of … Continue reading Jigsaw Cousin (it rained that night)