Glued Alley - 11/26

Documentary Fiction Photography - Steve Coel

...street artist unknown...

Glued Alley

Here -

Where...stump dead beat wired nuisances linger in the rust of ignored metal tram street..

Where...fried food chatter is muted by motored blue light alarm..

Where...hooded movement is screened in reluctant hidden rooms..

Where...glued alley painting welds anger into shadowed brick signpost..

Where...stalled woolen shouting clouds oiled shelter..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication 

Tin Canal - Steve Coel

DFP - Steve Coel©

Tin Canal

Here -

Where...alarmed rent money is silently spent..

Where...hi-rise winds flow between tin canal and secretly painted terrace..

Where...glued actions bustle into torn map market..

Where...electric fear spreads from street to newspaper columned whisper..

Where...window shadow warnings are ignored..

is the place language comes to die.

Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication©

   

Mater o Amser - Proposal(s) ©

Mater o Amser is the WIP ( work in progress) working title for new experimental short fiction 2027.

Stuff - Steve Coel

DFP - Steve Coel

Early draft samples from 'No Paths' - Steve Coel, An 11.59 Publication ( Festival Request )

STUFF - Steve Coel

DFP - Steve Coel

STUFF - Steve Coel

DFP - Steve Coel

From Cardiff Trilogy - Steve Coel

DFP - Steve Coel

STUFF - Steve Coel

DFP - Steve Coel

DFP - Steve Coel

No Paths - Illegal Fragrance (2026)

DFP - Steve Coel

Illegal Fragrance

Here -

Where...dining room corners are secretly guarded..

Where...tightly held anonymous bottles conceal early morning agendas..

Where...rusted chainsaw vans clutter side-street rumbled warehouse..

Where...cheap illegal fragrances batter muted steel trimmed trolley romance..

Where...unseen security walking is never invisible..

is the place language comes to die.

Experimental Short Fiction - An 11.59 Publication, Birmingham

From The Mercy Path (2020)

Text: Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication

Experimental short fiction in poetry form...

No Paths (2026) - Hollow Buildings

DFP - Steve Coel

Hollow Buildings

Here -

Where...hollow buildings shadow painted moment..

Where...dull flowers pilfer hedgerow litter..

Where...warehouse beams trap steel smile and welded arm..

Where...daily trauma functions alongside passing rumour..

Where...lost faces merge with condemned brick..

is the place language comes to die.

Arbrofion - 8/26

No Paths (2026) - Hidden Rumour

DFP - Steve Coel

Hidden Rumour

Here -

Where...spirited cloth tightly holds hidden defence..

 

Where...painted step reveals rusted night-time dancing..

Where...burnt time walking becomes wall shy and forced..

Where...open doors disperse rumour of stolen memory..

Where...expensive remarks are fake..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Hedged Whisper

DFP (2026) - Steve Coel

Hedged Whisper

Here -

Where...misled concrete steps shape movement towards shattered corner stall..

Where...brittle smiles are forced reminders of drafted opportunity..

Where...roomed time is measured through medication and juiced meal..

Where...coated weather is blossomed and publicly stooped by hedged symphony..

Where...trip wire walking elevates cloudy watered decision..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Grilled Walls

Grilled Walls

Here -

Where...saw dust machine driving is echoed across water and back yard..

Where...rusting district wires hang bird mirage nested along defined grid route..

Where...illegal paper is scratched from power grilled wall and street light post..

Where...stained half lit drinking rooms spill simple ideas on to wooden floor..

Where...dry air cycle pavement dealing is fence chain bagged..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Grey Water

Grey Water

Here -

Where...hollow buildings shadow painted monument...

Where...decaying plastic childhood lies perched on slopes of tall stripped tree...

Where...repaired jigsaw roads wait for seasonal pacing and frosty mornings...

Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone...

Where...daily traumas function alongside hidden rumour...

is the place language comes to die.

No Path (2026) - Grey Sky Weeping

Grey Sky Weeping

Here -

Where...isolation is frequently park benched behind littered garden..

Where..sweet song is car windowed..

Where...sprayed agenda becomes wire caged in overgrown broken side street..

Where...twisted knuckle bus stop waiting is grey sky weeping..

Where...gated steel business doors welcome alien van sacks..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Greedy Laughter

Greedy Laughter

Here-

Where...filmed movement is bound by derelict building and deadwood fire..

Where...silent conversations are concerned and paper free..

Where...official tattooed authority is broken by wired library bench seat..

Where...early evening heron fishing gets plastic bag poison water netted..

Where...greedy laughter clings to painted doorway shadow..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Frosted Vision

Frosted Vision

Here -

Where...narrow lane adventures are captured in muddy headlight and cry of tortured bird..

Where...broken lives are inherited..

Where...evening shadows lie distressed on ripped rock and moss border..

Where...isolated youth walk through decades of frosted vision..

Where...small trees blanket fallen brick..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Fractured Acre

Fractured Acre

Here -

Where...slim concrete staircases funnel nervous jealous glances..

Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone..

Where...young people die old.. 

Where... unopened doors fade into peeling brick and small bottled yard..

 

Where...glum dance patters aggressively on fractured acre..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Escape Bags

Escape Bags

Here -

Where...painted grief remains peeled along rubbished waterway..

Where...stabbed fist gestures halt illegal commerce..

Where...distorting voices emerge from collapsed shop door crowd..

Where...coin bagged exchange between enemies is shaped by secret patterned movement..

Where...loose clothing slopes into hidden wood seeking instant escape..

is the place language comes to die.

...we should all read Experimental Short Fiction...

Lee Mackenzie, Poet, Artist