New Brighton - where the sun shines, even when it rains. As he leaves the shadow of the station, Sam is bathed in a sense of being on holiday, of being abroad, of being. The sun shines on New Brighton. He puts on his green shades. The sky is bigger here; the seagulls, unlike the … Continue reading New Brighton
i heard a man with a dry cough. i saw a dog with a leg hacked off. i forgot just what it was to wake up in a mess of hot cloth. the queen's speech don't cut it no more.
Jackdaws & Witches jackdaws & witches tapping watches, stripping you to the bone. some still can't say your name without stretching all the wrong vowels. i hear your voice i'm ankle-deep in bluebells. my red penknife unfolds. i'm scratching your initials. trapdoors every monday morning, cornflowers, my boots are soiled. the grey birds, they are … Continue reading Jackdaws & Witches (audio)
The dark public bar of the Eight Kings is daubed, this afternoon, with three broad strokes of sunlight pouring through the windows suffusing everything touched with honeyed shafts, crowning shadows. Reflected in the mirror behind the teak jump, among the faces gathered, the smoke, the bottles, the glasses, a caged and colourful fruit machine trills … Continue reading Into The Light.
He wore his clown face – brimming with big boned and jumbled features – and smiled. But his bug-blue eyes, when you looked into them, held only reflections of sad and shaded river pools in some other autumn, and beneath the surface shadows and shapes shifted and were unseen again as the beds eddied. In … Continue reading Again, back
the prose she hones (analogue collage 06/11/20 10x10") The prose she hones all winter is wreathed in magic, sex and wonder. Come spring, will she, I ponder, still pen me essays of her darkest hour.
