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your hair, your face, your lips, your hands this mirror made these distant lands your whispered words are like a lyre plucked at night by beauty's fire the path you tread is like a lake a pebble falls and leaves a wake the stars at night pavane the sky the planets spin in their reply two hearts, two souls a path not started this past and present life departed all time and space will slip away as all your splendour will display that you and I may be as whole and watch as we invert the bowl `T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova

He was unforgettable. He was flaming scorching hot.

Light-hearted poem.

Great cakes,small town

A fictionalised version of Brighton life in a house of multiple occupation. Written saccharine sweet cynical for entry in a Council run competition.

A list of all the places I've ever lived in Brighton and Hove. I wrote this as a farewell to Brighton (I couldn't afford to live there any more). If you want to find out more about the Cat House squat, read 'A true ghost story'. GirlFrenzy, mentioned in the story, was a magazine I used to run... not a porn mag, but a zine with comic strips and articles by women. This 'story' was written as a spokenword piece at a GirlFrenzy night.

Comma was a strange musical instrument played by God Hypnos and certain rhythms overpower the orthodox faction of Hypnos causing a transmigration of form into Thanatos. In the psychic library of sleep, the word dream awoke the spell of the quisling called dream. Dream and sleep deduced an axiom that the number of commas used in the world would represent the number of those in sleep; connoting a negative value would amount to the number awaking in dreams.

"do you hear her divine whisperings?"

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