producing, from a tote bag, a battered pack of playing cards, placing it between her teeth, she began to speak while constructing a smoke. i made neither head nor tail of what she said (her words, hidden as they were within that deck), but, like the best of mime or close hand magic, it … Continue reading taken in
He took a knuckle of tobacco - naked but for a blanket cloak - in the moonlight of the kitchen, smoked a length of cigarette. He drank a cup of tea. He drank a cup of tea - rolled another cigarette - on the pre dawn carpet shapes the birdsong calling from the shadow. … Continue reading Unable to sleep…
if i can, with a glance, find focus in this disarray, it may be in the raising of the glass that we sip or your eyes as they lift to mine, gazing on your lips smiling and dismayed.
"Bow low to the cello, French horn & bellows." Her songs barrel in the barroom beams. Her Samba unravels. She learned in the mirror the poems of Brazilian queens. The elegant prose, she hones all through winter, is wreathed in magic & music & dreams. collage & acrylic … Continue reading Barroom beams.
out there in the bay tonight, captured in a globe of light, hand over hand over hand, overheard lonely lovers coaxing words from the shortwave static.
Ffooks mums got one fucking bosom! This assertive oddity, surly odd ditty, this ode to an odd titty, with its grammatical shortcomings, is rendered in white chalk on the door of the third cubicle in the boys’ lavatory. It appeared among the bristling graffiti galaxy the first week of January and will serve as good … Continue reading The Satellites & The Major Planets.
