I Thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier

1 The frame is glazed with October  hugging brick and black mackintosh,  anvil noise, pedestrian crush.  2  Train-bent, late and suddenly lost,  I search my face for tell tale signs.  Pulp paperback roof for my head.  3  With pockets of galleon moths  a jam jar collection of copper  I thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier.  … Continue reading I Thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier

hescho peech

I took my pen from a pocket and, for no reason that I could comprehend, blacked out several letters in the headings and, with not a notion of Situationist or cut-up theory, but with an urgent and divine energy, The School Speech became he Scho peech, which, in turn, instinctively, could not become anything but … Continue reading hescho peech

The Kiss.

He woke beneath a kitchen table. Scattered crumbs rose like far-off prairie mountains on the tiles. Through a slice of window he could see a deep crusted snow, shining on a rooftop. The sky held more snow. He was wearing someone else's jumper. Heavy, handwoven, Hebridian: blue with a daisy motif. He stared at the … Continue reading The Kiss.