Unclassified

Aunty Joan looked old, impossibly old. She became old overnight when her only child Julian had taken his own life aged just seventeen, that was almost twenty five years ago.

That was the thing about Reading; it was just never quite, and neither could it be, a pleasant place to live.

A poem about a dead dog's role in debunking a clever priest's stab at science

the night fever burns like a molten Nintendo still churning pictures broken vessicles endless like windows in a sky-scraper forehead another E.R.: another poke, prod, snub, sneer,