Taut line of thin manila, rope creaking on dusty rafters swinging. In your shame. Forty years of dead weight, then like a pendulum still. Three days before we…
Finchley Central; my new neighbourhood and a legion of foreign importers remain open for business; a warm Sunday evening after a day in a Camden pub. Fruiterers, bakers,…
Clothes pegs: in a line, on a line. Little dancing people moving to and fro, backwards and forwards this way and that. Elegant and charming; graceful in silk…
[For Kari Jeppesen] – Johnny Cash on the Jukebox; Walk the Line. In a truck stop with bloodshot eyes, and all-night drivers. And builders in blue jeans with…
[For Erin Alexander] – It’s not easy avoiding them. On a dark path, in the early morning. Try in vain, the lack of light, but it all ends…
In a dirty, dingy dive in a dire haze of old memories, I sit with uncle Patrick; dead quiet as always with a Campari and Soda to soothe…
My fingers touch dry strokes from a brush on a canvas from last year. So delicately you worked that piece. The landscape – brilliant greens and soft browns;…
Amplified sounds from a short-circuiting buzzer echo through a quiet hallway; a salvo of bursts ringing out into the lonely darkness. She’s on time – the primal craving…
[For Richard Chisholm] – Stilettos and hard black shoes; clack-clack, they walk the Christmas pavement. City dwellers and workers rushing to the tube, or pubs for warmth and…
