Friday, February 28, 2014
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Friday, February 21, 2014
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Keegin Munsamy: 0004
Leave it Behind
This is the second time. I remember the first. My hands are greasy. The first time it was not me but this time I was driving. There is no water around expect by the beach. It’s far too windy and the weather is changing. The tyre needs to be changed. I remember this is not the first time. She hands me the wet wipes. That’s how I know where to finds things.
This is the second time. I remember the first. My hands are greasy. The first time it was not me but this time I was driving. There is no water around expect by the beach. It’s far too windy and the weather is changing. The tyre needs to be changed. I remember this is not the first time. She hands me the wet wipes. That’s how I know where to finds things.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Victoria Williams: 0237
As my grandfather used to say, it’s cheaper to curse the darkness than to turn the lights on.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Eva Jackson: 0069
The Stables
My first job was to sell
Children’s books in a private hell
First dusting off the grains
Of the woodworms from the stable beams
Where the books were kept,
Then dragging out the metal table
With the change-box and the Anne Geddes bible
Which seemed out of place and massive.
I sat with book, impassive
And anxious listening to the strains
Of Britney Spears in the Stable lanes.
The song was about love that’s Toxic. She was
Out of tune with the rustic setting.
Every now and then a businessman
Would try to buy the Geddes tome
But haggle for a deal, not realising
I was not head of the enterprise, and
Could not offer him that joy.
I hung around in this employ
For several weeks, then quit. Perhaps
The little man who sold the ventilated hats
Rejoiced in that – it was he
Who told the boss I ignored the company
Of customers. But someone else,
I thought, should open the stall doors
For the invisible horses.
My first job was to sell
Children’s books in a private hell
First dusting off the grains
Of the woodworms from the stable beams
Where the books were kept,
Then dragging out the metal table
With the change-box and the Anne Geddes bible
Which seemed out of place and massive.
I sat with book, impassive
And anxious listening to the strains
Of Britney Spears in the Stable lanes.
The song was about love that’s Toxic. She was
Out of tune with the rustic setting.
Every now and then a businessman
Would try to buy the Geddes tome
But haggle for a deal, not realising
I was not head of the enterprise, and
Could not offer him that joy.
I hung around in this employ
For several weeks, then quit. Perhaps
The little man who sold the ventilated hats
Rejoiced in that – it was he
Who told the boss I ignored the company
Of customers. But someone else,
I thought, should open the stall doors
For the invisible horses.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Keegin Munsamy: 0003
Never Named
She said stay then she said Go. Come here. Never mind. We can go together. We watched the boat move across the harbour. Our turn would be next. But we were still waiting. We were going to miss our turn. But we had to go back to bring the car closer and to fetch her bag. I had asked her to take it but she had said No. Then she changed her mind. It is not the same without her bag. I felt she must let it go although she did try for a moment.
She said stay then she said Go. Come here. Never mind. We can go together. We watched the boat move across the harbour. Our turn would be next. But we were still waiting. We were going to miss our turn. But we had to go back to bring the car closer and to fetch her bag. I had asked her to take it but she had said No. Then she changed her mind. It is not the same without her bag. I felt she must let it go although she did try for a moment.
Victoria Williams: 0236
Watching someone reading: our eyes move like typewriters across the blank page, flung back at the end of each line.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Friday, February 7, 2014
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Keegin Munsamy: 0002
Contents
Never look in a woman’s bag.
There are white roses, an album, a nail clipper, a burnt pen and paper.
She could burn.
These things could burn.
Never look in a woman’s bag.
There are white roses, an album, a nail clipper, a burnt pen and paper.
She could burn.
These things could burn.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Victoria Willaims: 0235
Felt the prick of nettle-stings on my skin
Just a pool of tar where you were last seen standing
Just a pool of tar where you were last seen standing
Sunday, February 2, 2014
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