No Paths ( 2026) - Chemical Bone...Chop Shop

Chemical Bone

Here -

Where...car corner shadowed delivery is timed for all night pick up..

Where...burnt out tools lie on warped oil chop shop floor..

Where...thrift store T shirts sit bin begging long after closing 

time..

Where...skin twists tight against prescribed illegal chemical bone..

Where...tree lined hiding place becomes stripped down home for safe 

refuge..

is the place language comes to die.

Chop Shop.

Here -

Where...hidden alley way problems remain unspoken..

Where...broken woodland studded guards mock nature..

Where...silent animals pursue the sleepless old..

Where...stunted authority is doorway suited..

Where....cloned cob-web window warnings are nightly reminders 

from chop shop vehicle..

is the place language comes to die.

Rescued Footprints (2024)

Extracts taken from walking notes. Sleepless mornings deep in busy empty streets.

..alongside several boarded up townhouses, torn cars are being buttoned into fired twisted spaces...it's the music of early morning neighbourhood footstep reflected in slow moving traffic windows that stutter and idle into a yawning high street...

...close by, bare armed and heavily booted, keyholders arrive in knots of secret glances and reluctant handshakes, while patiently adopting the routine of shouldered good nature and long days of empty ambition...

Text - Steve Coel

Photograph - Steve Coel

Curated by An 11.59 Publication

No Paths (2026) - Broken Light..Charity Coffee

Broken Light

Here -

Where...tacky metal emblems cling to half shredded walls of commerce..

Where...fractured gang lines decide night time movement..

 

Where...waistcoat watches lie trapped in muddied brickwork..

Where...shallow drunk opinion dominates afternoon doorway purchase..

Where...beauty is hooded..

is the place language comes to die.

Charity Coffee

Here -

Where...bladed vape chatter tumbles into unlit corridor..

Where...fragmented sour heel 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.

Footnote - Why we should all read Experimental Short Fiction

'Experimental writing is often the strop that keeps your knife sharp...to implore that there are different ways of doing things...different perspectives...and different modes of reading.

You will not like all of it, but you will have a greater idea of what you like...and most importantly, you probably won't forget it'

Lee Mackenzie - Poet, Artist

No Paths (2026) - Bandstand..Begged Scandal..Board Yards

Bandstand

Here -

Where...top floor swearing is frequent..

Where...poor disguises are deliberate..

Where...slippery couples meet between sheets of hard fabric..

Where...derelict woods shelter shriveled worlds..

Where...door step begging is hasty and mindless..

is the place language comes to die.

Begged Scandal

Here -

Where...old parking is pavement rumour and small stone guttered..

Where...eclipsed views remain splintered with caged scissor precision..

Where...begged scandal is threatened..

Where...24 hour slowness is eyed suspiciously through boarded shop window..

Where...young shoes shoulder new passages on to industry dust covered machinery..

is the place language comes to die.

Board Yards

Here -

Where...recycled pathways stay unused and ignored..

Where...newly painted rail station gallery is haunted by plastic discipline..

Where...cryptic commands rattle through tight van streets into twisted board yards..

Where...key-ring novelty is blown into building machinery..

Where...boxed reminders become landfill..

is the place language comes to die.