Birdsong of The Spoons.

Despite having spent an age arranging the blind so that she could sit on the rug with her back to the sofa and watch the morning lighten within their slatted lengths, she found herself under heavy cloud, brewing, quite unable to play. She laid the cold horn on the sofa, scooped up her shades from … Continue reading Birdsong of The Spoons.

re: ancient civilisations.

this autumn morning, the same, almost so, as several in childhood, spent trying not to watch the bowl of oats and milk cooling on the sill. "waiting," he told me, "is a patient game." watching vapours reach for the ceiling.   "the ancient greeks made shields from porridge. or was it the polynesians?"   he … Continue reading re: ancient civilisations.

Your colour schemes delight.

Someone has complained of the beach weed stench - this beach stinks is etched into a bench. Next to this someone has penned for consideration You a bitch and your mum is a fish • The queue for chicken bones, the hound shite footprints, the coven of the blameless, detail the carpet, the sand and … Continue reading Your colour schemes delight.

Side 2 of Beggar’s Banquet.

the very last words that she heard were, “hey, man! they’ve just landed!” it was late one night in ‘69 we laid her out on a big blue blanket. we carried her down to the beach through the town, there was a storm brewing on the atlantic. the needle dropped down and i heard the … Continue reading Side 2 of Beggar’s Banquet.

Elvis Mirror.

Photomontage

Sunshine, honey the length of South Street, blessing nearly every pale shape there. Sunshine smears the terraces with a liberal ease and the windows cannot help but grin. The market is near gridlock with browsers, dawdlers: a mix of locals and grockles. Pushchairs and trolleys chariot. Shopping bags and shoulder bags tangle, and endless people brush. … Continue reading Elvis Mirror.