MicroFlashFiction - Short Stories and Experimental Narratives. '...my experimental approach to writing is suited to this medium...it's an odd kind of laughter sometimes...and it's always in the hidden places...(an ongoing series of) imaginative journeys into experimental fiction...' Writing Review, Q+A - 2024. Steve Coel
Half Stolen Buildings
Steve Coel
Published Experimental Narratives
Jan - Mar 2024
Timed Silence
Machine Winnings
Plastic Roof
Sad Eyes -
Metal Carpet
Glassed Ale
Traded Memory
Late Crowds
Bandstand
Timed Silence
Melted Future
Grey Water
Tree Litter
Idle Heels
Melted Shoe
False Doors
Honest Footstep
Modern Memory
Sleeping Path
Metallic Stumble
Fingered Paper
Cheap Tablets
Local Trade
Slim Change
Waiting Shadows
Hidden Rumour
Wired Beauty
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Iron Shelter - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...music is day-time dead..
Where...beaten up strangled trees steal fenced air..
Where...pavement shy funeral cars are smokey..
Where...mapped walking is silenced by small group gossip..
Where...sleeping iron sided shelters are brick piled into bulldozed walls..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Celf Stryd - Lloegr
Wired Beauty - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...drowned road happiness is traded for pennies..
Where...beauty is inked into loose skin..
Where...shop door dispute is hostel knuckled..
Where...salted air breathing is painful reminder of loss..
Where...wired thought becomes backroom industry..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Celf Stryd - Lloegr
Hidden Rumour - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...spirited cloth holds tightly hidden defence..
Where...painted step reveals rusted night-time dancing..
Where...burnt path 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.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Celf Stryd - Lloegr
Waiting Shadows - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...tacky metal emblems cling to half shredded sprayed walls of distant commerce..
Where...dead fruit is picked clean by unseen nightlife..
Where...mobile notes are glued to pavements damp with summer..
Where...singing electric wire hangs on whiskered waterway tree..
Where...glass shadows stretch into shoeless avenue..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Celf Stryd - Lloegr
Slim Change - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...slim smiles are given at shop exits and short change is expected..
Where...aimless driving is deliberate..
Where...fly-tipped memory eats up roofless factory space..
Where...narrow lane romance flickers over roof ridged hedge..
Where...crowds gather to pass time and silence..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
Local Trade - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...stubs of paper shape tomorrows nightmare..
Where...fussy overcoats and woolen carpet shape valley roadway..
Where...modern memory is glazed with empty cans of blood..
Where...fallen bricks slice postered railing..
Where...juiced radio plays out potent messages to scaffolded local trade..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Cheap Tables - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...cheap tables split abandoned doorways..
Where...cliff edge bramble holds litter to ransom..
Where...puzzled footstep is matched with clumsy frail voice..
Where...second hand clipped fashion rails spill strong alcohol and stained toxic mist..
Where...beauty is hooded..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Fingered Paper - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...natural postered walkthrough is dog bagged and puddled..
Where...powder lines are littered across cheap vinyl floored food station..
Where...fingered papers lie park benched with scattered community smile..
Where...ideas exist in yesterdays closed library..
Where...running looks like walking..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings - Steve Coel
Metallic Stumble - Steve Coel
Here-
Where...straight talking is a cold, charmless metallic click..
Where...wind launched building demolition scratches neighbourhood itch..
Where...stickered light falls on damp nylon shoe..
Where...last nights takeaway guides corner walled stumble..
Where...bitter smoke sticks to dark glass passenger..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings - Steve Coel
Sleeping Path - Steve Coel
Here-
Where...boasting is frowned upon..
Where...youth stubble walk across butchered sleeping path..
Where...slow of foot shadow wooden shovel..
Where...hills consume history and memory is wiped out by nature..
Where...half gloved hands rap on steel plate and small window..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Honest Footstep - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...weather growls at footsteps and distant noise is ancient and honest..
Where...rain drills fluent bitter nightmare into supple iron smile..
Where...broken machinery sits proudly inside dusty windowed derelict shelter..
Where...silent voices speak empty values to woolen walls..
Where...cold slab chipped rock fountain is smiling and love struck..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Shadow Nut Wood - Steve Coel
It begins by the shallow path that slopes unevenly down hill away from the shadow nut wood. Here, all along the broken hill, towards the distant wet rock, corrugated cylindered tunnels built to hide, imprison and shelter straight back frightened animals, lie rusting.
The air remains thick with the embrace of their death and the mud, stamped flat by heated spot, is acidic with fallen leaf and crippled motor oil, which in turn, twists open the unyielding buckle of weed.
From The Mercy Path ( 2024 ), Steve Coel
False Doors - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...shop doors embrace the bubble gum smell of illegal cheap drink..
Where...curled up steel yard hideaways become legend..
Where...broken promises are public..
Where...nylon jumpered youth blankly congregate..
Where...aimless driving is deliberate..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Melted Shoe - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...thick suited men drink bottled park bench liquid breakfast..
Where...melted slices of stairway rug fold into careless shoe..
Where...dead meat flags hang from rusty hook in damp empty rows..
Where...closed shops remain open..
Where...the big vision is narrow and short-lived..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Idle Heels - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...bladed vape chatter tumbles into unlit corridor..
Where...fragmented sour heeled machinery lies idle..
Where...cracked glass memory leans into elbowed temper..
Where...crippled time shelters from hillside churched solitude..
Where...rusty thimble alcoholics drink cold cartons of charity coffee..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Tree Litter - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...slip leaved footstep shovels misery along a siren alert high street..
Where...cold hands shake out the truth about childhood romance and early death..
Where...broken promises are guaranteed..
Where...hawthorn trees loiter among the erratic stones of ancient pathway..
Where...wired ridge hillside animals shadow tin roofed wooden shelter..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Grey Water - Steve Coel
Here-
Where...hollow buildings shadow painted monument..
Where...decaying plastic childhood lies perched on slopes of tall decaying tree..
Where...repaired jigsaw roads wait for seasonal pacing and frosty morning..
Where...starched wrinkled skin sticks to stretched bone..
Where...daily trauma functions alongside passing rumour..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Celf Stryd - Lloegr
Melted Future - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...old smiles are reflected in rust..
Where...crafted leather shoes sink in warm mud..
Where...happiness is hidden in fly tipped back lane..
Where...lost faces merge with elderly condemned brick..
Where...slippery eyes fix on glassy oil pavement..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Late Crowds - Steve Coel
Here-
Where...sweet burdens litter crowded bridge elevation..
Where...wired anger leans into rusted bicycle hillside..
Where...subtle fingers repeat last nights drunken movements..
Where...teenage defence is held tightly to deaf ear..
Where...failure becomes habit..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Traded Memory - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...dull flowers pilfer hedgerow litter..
Where...skin is scissored..
Where...memory is traded..
Where...new work jackets have missing buttons and broken zips..
Where...angry shadows are nailed on to walled in wasteland..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
Glassed Ale - Steve Coel
Here-
Where...re-cycled gloves spill glassed ale on the corner seat of the damp pop-up..
Where...locked doors open to sharp knocking..
Where...debt plagues argument like two coins rubbed clear..
Where...coat collar romance is early morning and drunk..
Where...feelings twist bitter movement..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
