I will bring you slightly dinted poetry. Bring volumes of it, as I promised. I will sing unselfconsciously, of longings from the early nineteen eighties. I’ll sing them in the kitchen, steaming, in the hot and foaming bathwater. I will ring you late sweet nothings, whispered in your bedside ear. I will ring you both … Continue reading Slightly Dinted Poetry
03/03/24 People keep commenting on my shoes. “Ooh, nice shoes!” “New shoes, Nick?” “I like your shoes.” I look down at my shoes, but they’re not new. They are a pair of grubby, once-white, All-Star Chuck Taylors, purchased last September. I bought them after much deliberation, much procrastination, only relenting, allowing myself, after the strip … Continue reading Dream Diaries… 122
Having no tuppence for fish and chip supper, marrowfat peas, pale ale, bread and butter, I shaped a plaything from yesterday’s paper and pretended the pavement a pitch. Some time later, I mentioned the weather in a bus queue, under puddled umbrellas. I motioned a cup and a ring and a feather beneath afternoon nimbus, … Continue reading I Heard The Name Daniel Defoe.
nickreeves 