Rathgar, Dublin.

November 1983.

Creosote clouds over the Dublin Mountains.

Red-bricked houses and four boys running rampant, singing, “armored cars and tanks and guns.”

Mam calls order.

Time for tea, poached eggs and bread-and-butter slices.

Shovel the coal into the scuttle in the rain, next door’s cat cries in the dark.

Scratches on the tar-papered garage roof.

More cats.

A chorus.

Mam’s…

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settingofsunsday’s childe

Movies seen last night: 1 Cups of coffee: 4 Mint teas: 1 Meals between 10am and midday: 2…

settingofsunsday’s childe

Movies seen last night: 1 Cups of coffee: 4 Mint teas: 1 Meals between 10am and midday: 2…

Losing My Voice (originally at Blue Fifth Review)

The hall table is an old gramophone. Where the turntable went is a hole, surrounded by plush velvet. Small steel needles, nubbed and sharp, lay around the carcass of the HMV cabinet. The speaker, if they called it a speaker back in those days, is set behind hinged doors. Black metal, wide to narrow, a roadway for the Batmobile I whiz toward the curve it cannot get past. When I push my Dinky cars…

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Thé Française and Some Last Words of Wisdom

A pose struck, the tumbled over container, camera around neck. Hold the image fast. Does the light create problems, or perhaps the slow trawl of the sun across the sky brings a passel of related issues?

Thé Française and Some Last Words of Wisdom

A pose struck, the tumbled over container, camera around neck. Hold the image fast. Does the light create problems, or perhaps the slow trawl of the sun across the sky brings a passel of related issues?

Makeyourmarksday’s Childe

Fingers spread, the width of a wingspan, all the while readying for descent. The vista over the city is terrible, smokestacks and factories pushing rancid fumes into the world.

Makeyourmarksday’s Childe

Fingers spread, the width of a wingspan, all the while readying for descent. The vista over the city is terrible, smokestacks and factories pushing rancid fumes into the world.

The Owls are Nearby
The Owls are Nearby