the wardrobe in the corner, high, not quite to the ceiling. and, one night, napoleonic, a guardsman, there, crouched. black boots to his chin. arms wrapped around his knees. brass buttons, gold braid, red tunic. dust marks brushed the evening. sabre, trapped. scabbard, palmed and yellow skin. he is speaking the french language … Continue reading very faintly.
unfolded sheets and cornered pages, cobalt, rising from the blanket, found a world within the drawer - everything unpainted. the velour shadow of the curtain, quiet and thin and barely moving, bows before the wounded evening - everything unpainted.
some memory of blue clay, of buttered gorse, jutting bayonet of flint, half-hidden, always just an inch away, this very, very evening, returned again, beleaguered, beached and batchelor: palm of secret, saddened gems. the following adornments remain abandoned on the tidal floor waiting for me to discover them - a glass of sand, a special … Continue reading hinge of laughter.
nickreeves 