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Roil Britannica

A bit of pre nostalgia for after Greenland’s ice slips into the seas. The gurnards engage me in quiet conversation. My surprise that I am breathing under water gives way to wonder, first, that fish can talk and, secondly, to their accent: Brummie bubbles. A phantom Bull Ring! Fancy, at these fathoms. I’ve been down so long that ‘up’ is an abstraction.(…)

Impromptu Conference

A sparrow stands beside me in the sun as if we shared the secret of the Fall. I tell the cheerful bird we’re here for fun. It answers that I know that is not all.

Abelard in Non-Hell

‘Oh Lord, Oh Laird,’ says Abelard, ‘I moaned that life was hard, but bugger me, an eternity of death’s harder. Take my word. Here Heloise makes Hades freeze, or is that vice versa? The moving mouse writhes and leaps on, disturbing Death’s own cursor, while blue screens scream for temp perdu and madeleines stay stale,(…)

Of Rain and Roofs

We talk together of things that matter but not to each other. On the roof, the rattling rain, envious of its kin falling directly into the harbour, descends to join up, guttering, incessant as conversation until it stops. Hearing what you say, I startle at my own silent response. I wonder how could anyone mean(…)

Monstrous Descent

‘What kind of wolf are you?’ .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .         ‘I wish a were.’ ‘Are you speaking grit,’ the gyring gorgon asked, ‘or subjugating us to the subjunctive?’ ‘A were-wolf!’ whined the wolf whelp warily watching the gyring gorgon’s garter-snake coiffure. ‘Why aren’t(…)

Formula Translation

Here’s one (poem? prose?) equation that Alan has been working on for donkey’s years. I have to say he is getting better (at making Microsoft Word do what he wants it to). Formula Translation <– click to see

Intellect Lite

Tim came from Flat Rock, the closest you could get to God’s country without being annihilated or saved. He grew there, and grew up one summer night over in Hendersonville in the back of the doctor’s debutante daughter’s Sedan de Ville. A year or two later he went downhill all the way to the coast.(…)


The music for romance flies out the window pursuing chances for a warmer bed. They won’t know how the chances that they had, divided by the chances that they missed, will tally: long division, no results. Hard rock segues into blues — her morning mood — in their concrete penthouse perched on Mesa Rock. She(…)


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