if there is god thinks Piotr then this bus will not stop at sentchiles sick tempull places which he cannot name places which all look the same bus will not leave him in darkness on dog-shit chip-box puddle pavement cold…
I did not know you. I did not know you and I was not there when Tuesday morning burst in upon you, kicked down the doors and stormed into the flat, when a dozen men with guns, – policia doing the…
at her terminal in the library of a small, forgotten planet she wonders who the others are and how they made it here when it closes, she walks to the stop finds the 42 left a long, long time ago…
This morning, you have forgone the sullen trudge to work, spring – two at a time – up bus stairs, whistle as you settle into a seat at the front with the world’s best view. The grey skies are wonderful,…
in another city or another part of town one of them would be filming this on his Go-Pro the slo-mo catching every leap, the light just right, camera passing over the designer brands casually-worn because they know they deserve them…
(with apologies to Lewis Carroll) ‘Twas Brexit, and the slithy Gove did frottercrutch in dwarfish glee; he snicker-snacked the Camerove, Machiavelliadastardly. Beware the stabberjock, my son! The empty eyes, the robo-glint! who fellobrates the Murdocrone the Ruperturtle übergimp! He pallerised…
Here is a poem for the others who are born on mud floors marshland and high plain in homes of plastic and flattened tin in spat-out estates in lands whose time has gone in the mewling sprawling cities of the…