Down the Phoneline-
My mother read me poetry as a last resort. She spoke of snowdrops, a great white land of nodding heads on tiny stilts. she fed them through the mouthpiece one by one like lines of-
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- 483 reads
Not a Mathematician
I am not a mathematician. I have never been able to see the equations, laid inside your skull like symbols drawn on water. But sometimes, I have seen the oceans move inside your pupil,
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- 489 reads
Naptime Five Hundred #1: Samantha Seager
You probably don’t know who Samantha Seager is, do you. Get a grip.
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- 2008 reads
Transition 3
Everything has place and purpose, its the balance that’s awry. Its in relationship to spirit that man will finally rely.
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- 858 reads
Spring Raindrops
A tanka about spring.
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- 743 reads
Robots
Such sights to see with so blind eyes; So many sounds to hear through these shrunken ears;
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- 858 reads
An End-of-Empire Feeling
From an article by Sanjiv Bhattacharya on a swingers convention in New Orleans entitled "Sodden and Gomorrah" (GQ April 2007)
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- 1044 reads
That Girl Knows Me
As I weeble, trying to pick a direction to face on a freak free-seat day in the busiest station under London, she stares with hazel lasers, ignores my apology, gets me twitching "she knows me/she know
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- 1090 reads