would include the corner honeysuckle hedge and two houses with high walls. Not ours, at first. When did it change? A pink hibiscus in the corner bed is where the hiding-place might be. Two white-yellow oleanders each side of the gate, their seeping white sap not safe. The wet path, too, when it rains theContinue reading “A correct map of 29 Columbine Road”
It’s been a year, Yet your presence lingers in strangers who cross the road towards me. — In a quest to educate myself and use my time more constructively I’ve scheduled reading before bedtime. In addition to poet and writer Salena Godden’s memoir, Springfield Road, and Daniel Kahneman’s Thinking Fast and Slow, I’ve been readingContinue reading “On a traffic island halfway across High Road, evening”
Don’t waste the joy of new places on absent sources of heartache. Don’t Waste Paris on a Broken Heart.
A letter is…
The soda needs fountain; the lolli needs pop. Pink milk goes for shake; red counters seek top. On jukeboxes rave and motors rev bike. Heat moves towards wave, while cream swirls for ice. Young leather struts jackets, then shy ankles flash socks. The point brings us to make-out where our lips search for lock. —Continue reading “Pairings”
Yonder far o’er vale and glen whereto grooms return and bread is leaven. This is another country. Today, outside, is a new room in which five builders, tiered upon scaffolding, cannot hear All Blues. This is no time for saxophone wails. Stand at the window and look out on the fresh planks. The backdrop: baredContinue reading “A New Room”