Beast heart. Packet of crisps and a smoke. A blink of the eyes and I come alive in your image. And then a field someplace. And then a road that cuts through the country that takes us to a forest where the animals play as if death were just some manmade invention and the end… Read more

The morning after the lifetime before. A beer piss that drags for hours leaving me weak at the knees and then the imaginary taste of your breast and I open my mouth like a baby bird in the nest but all I get is dead air and the rattle and hum of a boiler on… Read more

We watch the parade from under the bridge where we meet after work. We hold hands and forget where we are, but it’s okay, because this will last forever. I’ll make sure it does. Maybe one day I’ll paint it, or put it down into words. Don’t you worry. All things glow. All moments sing.… Read more

Residual memory. Residual touch. Long into the night, and long into your arms. There’s love on your chin, and sorrow on your lips, a sullen kinda beauty that dances between each letter of your name to the tips of my fingers. That name I say each day. That name that’s as natural to me as… Read more

The stink of inactivity turns me on like you wouldn’t believe. My own. Yours. Both at the same time. Everything ignites. Everything trembles. The thought of us spending days on end in bed together like the old people in Willy Wonka– it does more to me than all the porn in the world. Our filthy… Read more

The bus stop blues. The leaves on the trees that end up in my pocket. Will use them as bookmarks. Should’ve worn a scarf because the chill wind keeps creeping under my collar and freezing me. It grabs my balls and turns them into tiny marbles, or those stones you get on false beaches that… Read more

In the bottle, there’s God. In your belly, God also. Everything else is dust. Everything else just pales in comparison to the mystery of your kiss and the bliss of falling asleep beneath the stars not fearful of tomorrow. I’ve mentioned before how Bukowski said that drinking is like a suicide attempt you wake up… Read more

By the sea. Some place by the sea. A lighthouse and a cigarette and the memory of a kiss that tastes of liquorice. Fields and more fields. Another cigarette. Toothache and then a store that sells aspirin but not the good kind so the cheap stuff it is, washed down with a cheap can of… Read more

Those bus journeys to towns and villages as quaint and typically English as the music of Nick Drake. Time stands still in such places. The world stops, and the cities you read about in the papers are as distant and unreal as your dreams. Much of my childhood was spent travelling to and from these… Read more

As I enter the indoor market, there’s a stall that once sold an abundance of socks. Just socks. In all shapes and sizes. The old couple who used to run it are now dead and buried in a cemetery on the outskirts of town. Never knew their names, just their wrinkly faces. The stall doesn’t… Read more