Knuckle and Traffic
By ralph
- 2790 reads
A Chip Shop Circle
'It's cold isn't it? I'll have a brandy when we get there.' There was an aura surrounding a rising sickle moon that was giving clues about the...
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- 2030 reads
Afters for Others
Towel dry cuddles, from mums and dads.
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- 745 reads
Come On You Blues
8:30am. The alarm clock triggers its quadraphonic jangle, ricochets off the walls and splices into my brain like a swarm of hot bullets. It remains...
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- 1643 reads
Dandy
He used to skulk in top hat and tattoos slouching in a coat that Wilde once wore he had shoes of bin liner a fob watch of gold he coughed hand me...
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- 1644 reads
Liverpool Street
Shamed, regressed, disappearing into history.
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- 1 comment
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- 773 reads
This Family Life
Crisp bags chicken legs, and chips.
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- 3 comments
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- 1182 reads
Hyde Park
We marched to Hyde Park. We marched to nothing.
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- 6 comments
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- 1617 reads
Through Nantes
shear blunt battled barbs
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- 4 comments
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- 1243 reads
They Shoot Horses. Don’t They?
a piss and shit humanity
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- 1 comment
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- 1319 reads
Lulu Turns the Key
It was the night of the firefly. Just west of Canfield, somewhere in the bowl of Kansas. Lulu sat in her coupe, smoking home grown, outside 'Billy's...
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- 2 comments
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- 936 reads
One Off The Wrist In The Wendy House (for Neil)
It’s raining hard and I’m wet through, because of you. I’m locked out of the bungalow. Cold. Whilst you are in somewhere. Warm. To keep hot, I try...
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- 1 comment
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- 748 reads
Addict
'I’m a thieving lying betraying conniving dirty fucking drug addict. I’ll take my heart rip it apart wont care that without it I'll be reduced to...
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- 12 comments
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- 4159 reads
The Comer Inner
Sunday morning walk in Breton, with our hats, new scarves, old gloves, boots and our dog, Big Ron. You whisper in my ear all warmly, “This one’s by...
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- 2 comments
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- 1004 reads
Dreams of Children
Walking up the hill to the poetry class, talking to myself as if a mad man, of how tonight I will encourage the students to write vivid and...
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- 537 reads