Making letters

Muse, come to this blankness and take my unrequited offer to hold and stroke your shape to form. Rest here where fingertips may take their pleasured time with you. Today we have all day until 6pm when I’m due out. Muse, come in and be a while. My page is yours. — The poem above

New ink cartridges

From one side of the pool to the other, pacific waves cursive; held by rocks hard-backed in blue. A visiting squid squirts ink fresh and black. A pseudomorph arrows from the nib. 26/06/2014 — For Christmas ‘Secret Santa’ gave me a dinky, frosted pink fountain pen. It’s small; probably about 8cm in length. Its micro-cartridges

Tube sketch (one of a few)

The man with the notebook draws attention. The woman alongside hum drops her Evening Standard to glance. Left-handed he is writing with a ballpoint in a Moleskine, A5-sized. Two page turners across from each other. — The poems this week centre around London and the ordinary, daily observations living in this metropolis offers. Our first