Two days, two posts!
It’s all happening over at the Coyopa blogspot…
This new post is non-fiction. I write about how yesterday’s poem came into being. There are pictures and writing and all. It’s quite a scene. If I were you, I’d get over there right now and follow the action…
(Do you see the trend yet? Here’s a hint: soon this site will…
The green bus pulled around the corner, squealing on its wheels like a Formula One courgette on steroids. To the attentive eye, it was visibly pulsating with the effort of holding its psychedelic cargo from bursting out onto the street, threatening to detonate like a fractal explosion in a spiral warehouse and cover the city in squirming astral day-glow debris. It spluttered to a stop outside a shoe shop and…
HIS LUNGS ARE BURNING. He feels as if he is carrying two fiery wounds on his chest. Pain is marching through Digger’s body as he leans, hands on his knees, and wonders how, or even if, he will manage the next stage of the run. The chill wind cools the sweat quickly on his skin; he can tell that it stinks of the bodily residue of wine and cigarettes and…
I have surfed the stars and ridden the wind. I have walked between the worlds, been eaten by a bear and swallowed by the turquoise wolf that steps between the molecules of the sky. I have died and been born a thousand times and I know the secret name of the sycamore, the oak and the elderberry. Mine is the hunger of the sacred hermits and the dance of the