Something I wrote in the early hours.
Category Archives: Chicken Scratching
On Failure
There are no days, anymore. Not the horizonless maw of ‘days’. No. Just the hours. Hours. Hours I count down quietly (very quietly). When I am counting down, I don’t always remember if and when I reach zero. But I must do. Because, at some point, I do leave the hours and the days. Not …
Stately Homes and Serial Killers
A slap-dash and semi-lucid consideration of the parallels between the popularity of true crime and of stately homes.
Montréal 2017
Museums can be nice. I liked the Montréal Museum of Fine Art very much. But I think I miss the metro more. It put London to shame. And I suppose I miss poutine. And Christmas spent alone in an equally lonely city, an island of nearly two million missing for a day. And I miss …
In the chrysalis.
Subsequently published by Floodlight Editions. In the chrysalis, of this, marplot moment, Let our love be buried, On the backs of turtledoves. And be the blanket for my bones. . For when our parabola snaps, And the sinews give way, Our time will push the tide in. .
Exhaustion
I wish, between the spinal synapses, I could insert a key, the teeth slotting into place like a bird, landing upon a telegraph wire. . And waiting, it would turn, it’s wings would spread, and exhaustion, slowly, would spring. . Outwards, amber exhaustion, melliferous it malingers, before gushing from my pores, a Vesuvian embrace. . …
Highfields
Subsequently published as a poem by Floodlight Editions. As merry as the day was long, I wandered, winderly, Demure amber, skyward, encased the thread of day, And I read the benches of the barely dead. . Planted I turned to the lake, As, aimlessly, the moorhens mawked and paddled, Away, The slithers of the day, …
No Gods, No Masters 