essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
points for you if you are boss of the building, every lock
warm at your fingertips, every door’s soft click
yours as it shuts, every window with your face
reflected in it.
Above the house a low sun like a wrecking ball,
the world at the horizon splintered like a Rothko
i order a long black
he looks at me
man on man gaze
i smile
douse it douse it douse it
strike a match and freeze the scene
I want to feel
the warm milk of your smile.
I want to see your reflection
in the moon’s mirror, polished like spring bones.
Beautiful photographic studies of the outdoors in black and white.
She was not like unwitting prey,
That had never sighted the lion;
She fled from him, knowing
As she did what it meant…
i’d put stickers all over the moon
and hang it from the ceiling
in the living room
sunshine snacked on
a little
morning
Brown girl: you don’t get a plot twist. Your story’s been penned
with strokes as hollow as they are spiteful
I originally wanted to write an article about how different diets suit different people, and how breaking away from my father’s belief in the Atkins diet and doing my own research was liberating for me. I had hoped that those reading this article would find a similarly freeing effect, and it would give them hope…
For those who forego the languor of home ground, that lethal rapine of routine, the most compelling sound of the travelling life might be a ferry’s foghorn throughout the night
Porridge 