“Come hither” is the pylon’s dare. Its hum is above, beyond & everywhere. “God forgot this pallid scratch of scrubland.” "So, stare me down,” I say. It shrugs its shoulders & bares its teeth. It tongues the air. It thumbs me. Unrelenting, this autumnal glare: low sun & tree bark, hidden. There is … Continue reading Come Hither.
Out there in the bay tonight, captured in a globe of light, hand over hand over hand, I imagine, her dredging, with beads of perspiration dripping, while I can only try to coax a tune from the radio static.
When I saw you last, talking too fast, with your Gauloises & your Cola - well, it just makes you look older to me. It was dark in there, yes, I know. But I swear it said Bay City Rollers on that scarf wrapped round your neck & shoulders. Were you feeling cold, dear? … Continue reading Piccolo Knives.
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