2020 in Politics
I will be 45 in 2020. I do not mean I am going to transform into Trump — that will be my age. I am still political with a small p, or rather I am not locked into the pissing contest of…
New Maps, Not Knew Maps
The year end gets log-jammed with Best Ofs and obituaries. It can be a weird mix of nostalgia and grief, and I am not sure I want to buy into that notion that I am cutting off a gangrenous limb and waiting for…
each move meant
hung in some grey anatomy our contrapunto angulature these compliments to build ninety degrees edging into three sixty we will come full circle traversing the circumlocution of ourselves unfolding wings a switchblade transformation the divided sky the dividing line balancing the horizon…
Keep On Writing
I am writing in different ways and in different places at the moment, but I am keeping it in. Nanowrimo was a little bit of a bust, with five novels started, but none of them getting anywhere near the finish line. I…
trashcan whine
volume breaks apart the rhythm i come in like william carlos williams or bukowski turning into a skid on a good day more like doggerel on the dog-end days slow poetic diaries of nothing exploding slowly into something what kind of voice…
Nanowrimo
I am aiming at 5 different novels this year, and that way I might drag one over the finish line. I have only ever finished one actual target of 50,000 in a month, but I have several novels fairly far along in…
Whizz Dumb
I live inside a parable. I sit atop a mountain and people come and seeks wisdom from me. I write greetings cards and fortune cookies. I am an onanist being asked about the world. I was in love once, but she got…
know poem
bolting together thoughts into poetry some people hold precious the thoughts about poetry and they never plant the seed enraptured by the dream of a flower overwhelmed by the potential of its scent one day i will write this all down and…
Make Interesting Stories
Hard work without a purpose seems like hard work. Why am I doing this? In what direction am I struggling? What is the end goal of all this labour? I do not know, so I drag my feet. Taking your life into…
blocked drain
a palatable disintegration it ticks the right boxes the squirm of despicable character the crumbling face and the excuses trot out we find the rot out lies like bucketed water honeying in the sun unfit to drink there’s a stink something drains…