Jackson

A weekend at New Norcia, a strange, Catholic place that made me a foreigner. But a spirit is there. Entropy and order sing in the walled spaces and spacious view, old buildings, new birds, disused rooms, souvenir shop, graveyard, church and bell. So I sent a question. And yesterday, the answer arrived. There is no… Read more

Underblanket of the soul, the old, old soul, full of fluff and dustmites, patched and ragged, but warm Underblanket of the soul underpinning the skin underwriting the veins Security blanket with a teddy-bear head, ears well-sucked. You need a busload of faith, said Lou Reed Several truckloads, Lou, rolling into your town, rolling into my… Read more

He has short, ragged dark hair, jeans, a long dark coat. He walks out of—a building, an alley, an archway in his black boots, his shaven pale face almost handsome. He is in love with someone—he is dreaming. He is young and beautiful and he speaks to me and I touch his hands. He stands… Read more

Don’t tell me you wouldn’t know it, the heart-lurch, the skin-zing, the adrenaline fizz flashing along you if that one        sent an email if this one        entered a room. Don’t tell me your pupils wouldn’t dilate, your palms and feet and armpits wouldn’t sweat, your breath wouldn’t quicken if that one        brushed… Read more

Lay your eyes on me Me and the whole of me Down in the depth of me. Like me to think of it? A lamp in the darkness. Bridge between towers, Over the dateline, Troubled by turbulence. Waters lap the docks and rocks. I … Will. Lay your hands on us Me and the rest… Read more

Walking in the city centre, rain falling into my two-tone hair, looking for something that just isn’t there any more—or never was. A boy in black trenchcoat and trilby strolls, different, confident; doesn’t look at me, with my melted hair. I’m just a lump in the crowd, but I want to tell him, “You’re beautiful.… Read more