Another Erewhon
He sat down at the edge of the lake and he pretended that it was a mirror that he might throw reflections into that would never come back, or which would at least store them under the jetty like a floater for…
Tag: musehick publications
concrete blindness
you, brief explosion you, mis-target heart you, somewhere in the dark a half translated movement from a full realised collapse like a synapse fried for nothing there are fortune cookies burning there are doves dipped in sunset blood and all of them…
Never Play Just One Note
Catharsis poetry has its place, and what I think of as head music poetry, like-wise has some value. But there can be a strain of poetry that is both intellectually and emotionally informed that neither has to be lacking in backbone or…
structure
Ways to approach story structure are always something I am looking at, and not because I am looking for a formula, rather I am looking to bust apart any tendency towards the formulaic in my work. Understand your enemy. Anything that has…
punch and due day
punching late punching underweight punch and contemplate punching clocks party punch drunk punch and judy why are you on the defensive? was it really so offensive? trapped in the loops trapped in the patterns acting as if anything matters when you don’t…
The Swimmer
Dreamsoup head, she lifts it and the pearlescent drops fall from her hair like liquid mercury. Her eyes are alight with story, stacked layers of reality filtered through the retinal slice she had implanted fifteen years ago. Post Burn Paris is not…
Work Fun
Work quicker. Work harder. Work faster. Deadlines and headlines are how a lot of people manage their work – they are basically targets and goals that you have to hit. Painting a whole neighbourhood would be a main target, but if you…
undetected
you’ve never arrived and your illusion hasn’t shattered because it hasn’t mattered to anyone to take a hammer to it you are in shadow hidden from spotlights a whisper in a gallery but you lie to yourself piece together a life from…
Dip The Test Card In Blood
Decay was a rudimentary excuse. A man sat there picking apart the cross-stitched home sweet home. The skull in the fire place wasn’t much of an explanation, nor would it have been an hour ago before the charred flesh crisped and peeled from…
you are yours
gnomic palindromic we are crouched in the confines of ourselves trying to scream through the metal throat there are boots on necks there are needles in arms we were once gliding between stars light notions, frozen glacial pictures now we are developed…