Jul08

In my quest to escape to the rumoured ocean’s far roar, I wander all my days in the drifts of the deserts, circling the depths of these vast dune seas that burn under the lidless, captious stare of that great flaming eye. One day therein, I spied the remains of a great tawny tower, that…

Jul07

The Tunnel This day was long and behind it dragged a bulky package: a paltry sack of rotten potatoes. A crucial sack that bothers the sides of a tunnel. As the day wore on, striving through to the forsaken end – a light – a dull and apathetically unaware, perpetually measured, constantly corrective light in…

Jul06

The Circle VI – June She swivels her head, that friendly ticking Puts her back to before she sent him packing. Her bright brown eyes refocus on that clicking That dulls the lonely ache and the lacking. Family gone; husband gone; alone, she’s cooking, Cakes for the circle, fuel for the talking. With each wary…

Jul05

A Sunday Stroll through the Village The sun lensed a hole in the canopy enough to etch rainbow flares across the undergrowth and the trees had coughed up a phlegm of bark. Rolling banks of buffeting gusts roiled their sticky goo and made me imagine a keg chested wolf exhaling furiously while above unimpressed squirrels…

Jul04

To Sleep in the Shadows   Dense is the umbra: A crawling shadow, Sombre as dusk, Cascading tones of darkness Into a matt, flat pool.   The sable hands of night Reach out with raven Strokes of unseen fingers To steal the colour and Snuff out the light.   Sightless, underexposed eyes, With veiled, visionless…

Jul03

I spent the morning as a photographer’s model wrenched into poses for sordid 8mm thrills. I spent midday as a sculptor’s tool, scratching out lines from the liquid Siesta Sun. I spent the afternoon as a painter’s longing, slashing off ears and other pathetic parts. I spent the evening as a singer’s muse radiating jealousy…

Jul02

Why does the strident sea air always make me think of sinking ships? I see it now, the stern, stood wagging, like a ducks arse, wriggling as its slides deep to its cushy rest. And time shrouds it, the currents crusting the boney beams and bow with convivial heaving blades of weed for the eels…

Jul01

Ne Pas Nager, Plus De Natation. I was never swimming for life-saving. I never wished to rape the mill pond with my freestyle. I never hankered after skinny dipping or ghosting into tepid tides to pillage ocean currents. I’m no yacht, no sleek racer with waxed hull and cool-hand Coxswain. I have no life-boats. I…

Jun30

a pixel fly headbutts a window pane a rippling aurora skews sights wrapping the tin of a car like a halo chattering crumbs cluster over one another like waves of sticky beetle limbs flustering to avoid contact with the cloud-wreathed flaming sun an august cyclops rose bows baronially under the weight of its petal ruff…

Jun29

Ghost Driver I let a ghost drive my body last night. Let it peer over my steering wheel. It drove me to the disco, made shapes with my body that it wasn’t supposed to make. It reversed me into line, fishtailed through the mall, donutted around the cinema and crashed me into the river. There,…