Noah’s Wife.

Tammy is rattling. I’m not far behind her. She tells me again her feet are wet. I hear the grizzle rising in her voice as we come down on Derby Road in the morning rain. Wax Noyle and his rawboned daughter or his lover or whoever she is, shelter in a shop doorway. He wears … Continue reading Noah’s Wife.

Float On.

The old man passed over the rooftops of night, the glowing shapes of light; county town and countryside. He threaded the stars of orange spangle and blue and white. There was a hum that came to him; not of electricity - because that was like kettledrums or rumbles of sheet metal thunder. This was a … Continue reading Float On.

Askew In The Saddle.

            “It’s so cold I go to bed with a nipple on. I wake up with one, too.”             “Just the one?” I ask. But, yeah, it has been pretty cold this week. Little Annie has been in search of a higher purpose, for some kind of meaning, for awhile now. "Something has to change." … Continue reading Askew In The Saddle.

Always in the distance.

The man woke early from a wonderful dream convinced that he could speak German. And, to some extent this was true. Ausgezeichnet! he said quietly. His wife arched her comma shape into him. Ein wundershön traum, he said into her hair, but his voice was sticky and thick in his throat, full of cold, as … Continue reading Always in the distance.

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.