Do not count the minutes the hours the aches of your waiting the distance of touches Do not count the weeks the months the lines around eyelids the hairs turning grey Do not count the years the decades the blinks between birthdays the fathoms of remembering
In a small-to-medium-sized city at the southern end of South Korea, in a small but well-appointed apartment, there lived a kind and generous woman, full of good intentions for her husband and two young children. The husband—a primary school teacher—was also very kind, and full of love towards his family. The children were especially well-behaved,… Continue reading 희망 양 (Hope: Part one)
~ The owner of the book ~ At the park, a couple find a bench that has the best combination of shade and dryness available, and sit down to read. The husband feels a pang of apprehension as he reaches for his book, what is he about to uncover? He half hopes it is rubbish,… Continue reading The writer who didn’t read enough
It is a little known fact that the shadow of Rudolf Nureyev—the greatest male ballet dancer of all time—belonged to a freelance project manager by the name of Andrew Lamb. Long ago, one black Siberian night, when Rudolf Nureyev was still a child, his shadow slipped away into the darkness, never to return. The next… Continue reading The shadow of Rudolf Nureyev (Part 1)
wandering down Ponsonby in a brand new tracksuit purchased by Lord knows who parents long gone not looking competent enough to have ever bred looking 75+ rolled into 60 years of hard living and with 10 more lost to the lithium and clozapine he passes us by sipping on our flat whites I tell Heaven… Continue reading A babe in the woods
You’re preaching to the choir, but the tenor’s voice broke some time ago, in June of ‘97, when the dihydro test came crashing in —since then all he wants to do is find new ways to fuck. You’re preaching to the choir, but the soprano joined a screamo band together with the bass, who left… Continue reading (Echo) Chamber Music
There are no oceans on the moon— that’s why I want to swim in them. Listening to a dead man's voice, willing to believe his lies. We are never where we think we are. I am eight years old... sand in my teeth... I hear laughing.
On this rock; round this star; through space and time... I pretend to orbit you— another hurtling speck.
An hour’s break – the dying bumblebee underfoot; as grey as an office worker.
A woman floats through a dream. In your dream, she dreams of you— in hers, another floats dreaming through.
Another mirror in a thousand pieces— sweep the floor clean, leave the wall bare.
All around us, everything is small— the only big thing out there is all this smallness.
The moon does not cast our shadows into the water. The pebbles do not watch our shadows drift over as we leave them. That river has been dry for years.
Gnarled rest-home fingers— like roots coiling into themselves —remember their parents.
we are doing a scene things are going great no one has forgotten a line, and everyone’s timing is on point a familiar little girl is peering in through the glass door behind the kitchen table we can just make her out she is very pretty, and is shyly mimicking our movements it looks like… Continue reading Outside of this sitcom
The world has always been this way —it’s only now that I can see. Children in their endless bubbles bound about like tiny giants; living lives that stretch far beyond their bursting point. All I do to console myself is admire such ferocious will.
I am cold fingertips pressed against a soft, mochi thigh; an obnoxious, novelty alarm clock. You are legs kicking under duvet sheets when I yell not to move! We are the fart you let out when shocked awake: we are momentarily trapped – warm and familiar – and though we will soon dissipate and be… Continue reading What happens under covers
Another day... another day... another day has passed away! Weep! And rejoice! Another day comes this way!
There are no wild geese performing semaphore to inform us of our place in any family of noble ideas. Here, pigeons hobble on their mangled feet, devouring public waste, and anything too weak to drag itself back to safety. No cave hides behind any waterfall for office workers to clamber into and cry for their… Continue reading Do not click here
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—date and time incalculable—to commemorate the passing of our one and only, our Everything. Taken from us far too soon, yet now at rest. Bow your heads before the final procession of innumerable pantheons! Nursemaids to every human privation, resplendent in their finest regalia; children of a golden light scattered… Continue reading Eulogy for the World
Common table sugar dissolving into mouthfuls of plain, sour yoghurt; your kisses after an argument, knowing the fights will continue after the make-up sex —galaxies dying on my tongue.
Get up from your bed, go out from your house, follow the path you know so well, so well that you now see nothing and hear nothing unless something can cry loudly to you, and for you it seems even then no cry is louder than yours and in your own darkness cries have gone… Continue reading Waking (by David Whyte)