Poetry
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jazz, booze, brazen pizzazz, zouks daze, putz rezones contemporary votary youth. yell, yes, yourself yearns inexpert, co-existing, bemixed jukebox. next, proxy ‘howdy’ – who, which fellow, why? walleyed, worship quivers: reserve leaves, salvation arrives volubly, requests. puzzled, you jumble, quake, jumped-gun. mother, tortoised beneath table, watches daughter’s social, reminisces pregnancies. warns – his compass veers…
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oh, monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be: the unlikely story, here we are, orbiting outside space of closed bar, between us a bridge, both of us victims of some violence: you, the first stone cast, the queen dethroned, me, the first to leave, a nomad in this empty echo.…
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spwm day 7
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Finally, you’ve found me. No, sorry: I don’t have all the answers. The ones I do – hoverboards don’t exist. Yes, you grow even taller. You become taller than even Father. No, I’m still single. Yes, you get to buy Power Rangers CDs. Yes, there’s still Pokémon, and yes, Ash still hasn’t won the league.…
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Lying on the communal bed miles from home and desperate, I bash myself into other conversations, extend earphone tentacle smuggled under sock; laughs at the cover, I swear it’s good, track 14, I listen to it in the shower at home, more laughs; friends whose names I’ve forgotten ask what it’s about, I try to…
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on the elevator she steps aside, lets others into the gantries first. she hasn’t seen a mirror in years: in the dark, she feels about her shape, is satisfied with being. what was her name? she knew it was a saint’s. it just had to be. in the dark she swallows even without being asked.…
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I. I was the first, one of the first. But you know first one’s a fool. Who’s gonna get in line? First one to go, first one to fight the way. We lived in the throat of death every day. Where you’re criminal because of who you are. “These people ain’t gonna do nothing for…
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first, to visit, you have to be lost. second, there will be no guide, so open your eyes. the lake before you is just a diversion. watch out for the lonely boat, beating itself against the shore. check below the seat. there, you shall find an oar and or a map. it doesn’t matter. row…
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“Tomorrow wears yesterday’s face.” – Flavour text from ‘Conjurer’s Closet’, Magic The Gathering Warily the doors creak as I am reaching into the ether again my hands are billowing in the current of adrenaline and shivering like kites caught in trees I am reaching in to bring out magic trickery (n.) the practice of deception…
ugly stage 