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
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
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.
I purr her name deliciously, but dare not turn the page to read the words, preferring to believe the past is present in the future. I heard her playing yesterday beneath the window, but the room, of course, was empty; not even the piano. * She walked among the flowers depicted on the wall. She … Continue reading The Glass.
As the game ended it started to rain so we ran, faces wet with laughter, struggling to raise the umbrella we'd found in the overhead on the train. umbrella (cut-up, watercolour 20/07/21)
i heard a man with a dry cough. i saw a dog with a leg hacked off. i forgot just what it was to wake up in a mess of hot cloth. the queen's speech don't cut it no more and north of yorkshire it is very rare. Life on the seashore / analogue collage … Continue reading mess of hot cloth