[Rib Nite 3] Ever woke up from a big old sleep and wondered, wondered why your ribs are a-blowing in the breeze? Ever woke up on a vee dubya backseat? On a backseat with a head like a plug of Camembert cheese? Well, forgive me, please, but you ain't ever woke up. * He wondered … Continue reading Cup & Saucer.
I'm over here - in the hearth - sitting in the fireplace, in the flames, atop the crackling wood. I'll whisper or I'll shout your name as the glow of the logs oranges my skin. The sap bubbles all about me, the pine cones pop, but still I cannot raise a heat. Oh, if only … Continue reading Cold As Mackerel, See.
5 [postcard] Marguerite/ Amedeo Modigliani, 1916. * Penny Diamonds. They were sat at a large table papered with plates and balled napkins. The table was adorned in glass and everywhere was dusted with knuckles of crumb. Snapped and unsnapped crackers, penny diamonds among the paper crowns. There was a cliff face … Continue reading Mirror (5): Penny Diamonds.
They sat around in the low light and the blue smoke of the room and after a while he picked up a guitar and started to strum some rudimentary chords, plucking triads and tripping harmonics and, believing he was, of a sudden, some rough blues man, he began to throw in some hems, some hums, … Continue reading Some hems, some hums, some uh-huhs.
It started to rain, so I dripped into The Eight Kings. The usual liquid-lunchers, afternoon boozers, the work-shy, the free. The knock-off merchants, too, and the old. The two-for-one crowd with the pushy pushchair. I could hear Snoyle laughing it up with the bookie boys behind me. They were playing a game of cards. Far too … Continue reading The Definitive Slide.
He waited a while longer, but he saw no return. He got out from under and he went upstairs. He laid in the bath and rolled another cigarette from an ashtray collection. The mirror steamed and rain drummed the thin glass in the skylight. When the water lost its heat, he climbed out, dried himself and … Continue reading The Table.