renaissance
By ralph
- 2011 reads
Swept
The wind wraps me in to you. And I can stand this. For I am swept again. This isn't melancholy, crashing a wave, a lost riptide. I am clear on that. All of that.
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- 1422 reads
Bow Boy Blues
A camp, lisping Spanish stilt walker geezer accosted me on the Roman Road about an hour ago, he was shaking a bucket for guide dogs but because of...
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- 1574 reads
Contender
The guy is Zoot suited and Chelsea booted. He is drinking a South African red of a bad year that had travelled via Oslo on waves as tall as the...
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- 1352 reads
Press
Wanting ways to measure the broken pulses of her junkyard mind is as fitful as walking on needles Where sleep ends her terror will begin for she is a scored land that trips and swallows
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- 883 reads
The Song of Mickey Clemons
The soundtrack of a hip-hopped London. Bulgaria, Bhangra and bedlam. All the gruff, cherry red market boys sing along. ‘Oranges and lemons, poor...
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- 369 reads