The Landlord
I let myself in on Monday evening with the spare key on its green plastic tag. Three months of unpaid rent had passed, and the smell in the hall already carried what waited on the other side of the door. and there you were, in the centre of the room, suspended from the rafters, toes
Jacobs Ladder
those gleaming silver travellers of the tar, holy rollers deserting me like faithless friends hitching rides to wilder horizons. they vanish into the night, or the blistering noon, tumbling free while I loop the same grimy industrial estate, the same sharp corners, round and round. it’s their one breakout, and I almost envy it. I