I remember the silence. Oh I know there must be sound as well.The care-worn carols and shop-cycled songs,the buzzing toys and once-again movies,cracker-blasts, popping corks and washed down arguments that linger. It’s just as we walked, all of us,through the… Continue Reading →
I am framed through the hagioscope, but this is not your prison. They walled you in with freedom, and you sang your own death, and spread pity on all the words that followed. They all want saving but they’re not… Continue Reading →
Observe if you will the subject, the glass across her shows, a clear-cut image of the creature inside, the gluttonous stone-cold toad. See how it sits in the darkness, concealed in the subjects gut, with limbs of purple and emerald… Continue Reading →
(Written at 13, re-written at 20 and found in the archives at 30-and-a-bit) Aged thirteen and late in bed, I realised that one day I’d be dead. My stomach gave a sudden jolt, and in me found a strange revolt,… Continue Reading →
We open up on Wolfies’s wife, and her sad, string-tugging tale, of her fine, old husband cut stone dead, of babes to feed and bills in the mail. And Wide-mouthed Jack catches all those tears, counting the figures on his glinting fingers,… Continue Reading →
The scratching became a tapping, that soon became a crying, I heard the voice inside me, in my bedroom down below. ‘Mice,’ said my mother, clucking, so my father got to trapping, and I waited for the screaming, in my… Continue Reading →
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