1. I will remember. A rhyme yet to come. All is rhythm. Horn and drum. It was autumn. I will remember. 2. A rhyme yet to come. Glance her mirror. All is beauty. Glimpse and glimmer. It was November. A rhyme yet to come. 3. All is rhythm. Six bells chime. All is hum. Her … Continue reading Her Hymn In Waltz Time.
coddled on the northeast coast as an autumn guest, we sweated a weekend out between her sheets until, the colour of almost - boiled albumen, i became. haltwhistle©reeves2019
in an oaked corner of wild field, unzipped, I spilled into a belfast sink at the foot of the fort on Old Rothbury hill, a less than generous piss without thinking - a skein of hinny spittle and skinny sheep disease, stagnant spring rain, latticed silver wings, windfall twigs and orange leaves and, beneath this scum … Continue reading a sort of masterpiece.
The wind picked up & the air became wet & in-between attempts to light the cigarette, the boy, turning this way & that, trying to catch the flame, started on some convoluted tale about how he had lost his girlfriend, got thrown out of his flat, & about how someone had stolen his hair clippers. … Continue reading Liam and Stan and Ollie.
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.
nickreeves 