Imagined Matins.

Barely rested, but with fevered beats beneath my skin, I drew her supposed aroma in and out and in again and all around this sleeping creature my world contracted and expanded; and I wondered of her dreaming.   To pass the time I figured cracks, pretended craters, dead seas, frontiered charts across her ceiling. On … Continue reading Imagined Matins.

The Night Was Teal.

  Knott laid the hot bike down gently in the knee-high grass among the night shade of the trees, shy of the flood-lit garage forecourt. He threw his helmet down. He rubbed his head vigorously, unzipped the jacket and took out the empty plastic bottle nested there, threw that down, too. He straddled the five-bar … Continue reading The Night Was Teal.

a sort of masterpiece.

  in an oaked corner of wild field, unzipped, I spilled into a belfast sink at the foot of the fort on Old Rothbury hill, a less than generous piss without thinking -   a skein of hinny spittle and skinny sheep disease, stagnant spring rain, latticed silver wings, windfall twigs and orange leaves and, beneath this scum … Continue reading a sort of masterpiece.

Her Anarchy Baffles (cassettes)

It hasn't all been about counting magpies or indeed any corvid (sic) tally these last few months here at Reeves Mansions. Like everyone else I've had to learn to live with myself; look beneath the bed and find all the things I hid under there; one of which was my Tascam 4 track cassette recorder. … Continue reading Her Anarchy Baffles (cassettes)