The day she won the National Exclamation Lottery - which was also her birthday - she decided, at once, that almost the first thing she would do was buy her old man the boat. She was generous like this. But, first, she had to go to work. So, she finished her second coffee, pocketed her … Continue reading Hejira.
There aren't so many pirates at the pirate party. Mostly, it's just people at a party. Wayne, though, who I haven't seen since Tommy, me and him spent that week in Cornwall, is stood at the window, staring at the sea. He has a blackjoke, plastic pirate patch over one eye. It has a skull … Continue reading The Pirate Party.
Had he never misplaced the mojo, he may, he reasoned one evening, have been able to keep a keener eye on his star. But, he sensed, it had fallen. He came to this late. Drew scant detail. Reason, as such, eluded. He dreamed a nearfuture pocket of his being patted. Mojo? He looked up in … Continue reading Dim Star, Mojito & Mojo Rising.
We are in a prayer circle on Bridgeport High Street. Praying for the lost. It rains. Pastor Simon, in his shit brown suit, leads the long prayer. The rain comes in at a slant. He holds a bible to his chin. He takes forever with a prayer, does Pastor Simon. We are wet below the … Continue reading Speeding For Jesus.
“Come hither” is the pylon’s dare. Its hum is above, beyond & everywhere. “God forgot this pallid scratch of scrubland.” "So, stare me down,” I say. It shrugs its shoulders & bares its teeth. It tongues the air. It thumbs me. Unrelenting, this autumnal glare: low sun & tree bark, hidden. There is … Continue reading Come Hither.
The young lounge the hours on the benches of the dead: their carefully careless hair skew-wiffs caps. Scratched and battered skateboards slung at their outstretched sneakers. Energy drinks clutched in one hand, handset in the other. Sickly, sticky-blue smiles on insect faces. You rarely see anyone riding a board these days. The older guys, sure. … Continue reading The Ancient Skate Punk.