The back lane, this new-year dawn, is littered, bleakly - tumbled bins, spent bottles, knuckled tabs, sodden boxes; hound shites, plastic wraps, a quilted headboard, yellowed hand towel; wrapping-paper tumbleweeds troubling parked cars; a bloody gown of herring gull (gutting something); and the last, the very last, or the first, Christmas tree, skulking and skittling … Continue reading The Wronged Tree.
New Brighton - where the sun shines, even when it rains. As he leaves the shadow of the station, Knott is bathed in a sense of being on holiday, of being abroad, of being. The sun shines on New Brighton. He puts on the green shades. The sky is bigger here; the sea birds, unlike … Continue reading New Brighton
Jackdaws & Witches jackdaws & witches tapping watches, stripping you to the bone. some still can't say your name without stretching all the wrong vowels. i hear your voice i'm ankle-deep in bluebells. my red penknife unfolds. i'm scratching your initials. trapdoors every monday morning, cornflowers, my boots are soiled. the grey birds, they are … Continue reading Jackdaws & Witches (audio)
kitchen window three-ten blues she loves me, yeah. she loves you, too. oh, what's a boy to do? i ask you. on the rooftop, mars. she deems do cower. "please make it disappear." oh, what a to-do? i ask you. appropriate words. now that's what's needed. proper, appropriated, properly words. kitchen window four-ten blues i … Continue reading rooftop horizon
the prose she hones (analogue collage 06/11/20 10x10") The prose she hones all winter is wreathed in magic, sex and wonder. Come spring, will she, I ponder, still pen me essays of her darkest hour.
i've smoked all the wine and drank all the baccy. and it's got to mean something, but it's ten thirty eight, still early. i may just stay up 'til dawn. (Could've worked better, somehow, with 'dusk'. But that would've been crazy!)
