When I was a kid (and sometimes still), i could reach and touch the walls (and the ceiling) from my sheeted bed - although this was impossible. And then, with an advance unstoppable, my bed, the ceiling and the walls could all be touching me. And somewhere still there was (and is) the thrill of … Continue reading although this was impossible.
in the light play between the john street beeches i thought i caught a glimpse of you.but that couldn't be rightand is only half true. will I ever sleep again (and if i do will i dream of you)? i am a mystery, as you are to me; but we've both been 23, and therein lies the … Continue reading will i ever sleep again (and if i do will i dream of you)?
i rested on the handle of my spade and smoked. i witnessed a congregation of privet, solemn hemmed and so cuffed with berries that even the herring birds, oddly black against the cloud, eschewed with cackles and coughs and with caution; such is tumbling rubbish on a breeze. i worked a thread of wet tobacco from my tongue to … Continue reading the bitter taste of almost breathing
coddled on the northeast coast as an autumn guest, we sweated a weekend out between her sheets until, the colour of almost - boiled albumen, i became. haltwhistle©reeves2019
she wrote a poem once and maybe i'm deluded but i thought it was for me. she wrote - oh - a thousand poems in her time and none but this one were for me. i looked into her grayed eyes and that day they were cameras to me. i looked at her lips … Continue reading cameras to me
I am the ghost. I am the breath of a ghost. I am a sigh. I am the blink of an eye. I am a dream. See these headlights and tail-lights? - I am the nothing between. I am the silence, the siren, The thought and the theme. I am the second hand, the minute, … Continue reading Never Been Seen.