No Paths (2026) - Dull Flowers...Etched Arm

Dull Flowers

Here -

Where...yesterdays comical events sit buried in vintage blue cement..

Where...blistered streams fall into backyard shed..

Where...dull flowers pilfer hedgerow litter..

Where...stone-engined vehicles bruise centre lane grass..

Where...weightless men saunter into cotton hospital shroud..

is the place language comes to die.

Etched Arm

Here -

Where...ripped memory is etched into electric wall..

Where...enveloped escape payments lie forgotten..

Where...plastic bag purchase is photographed and questioned..

Where...traffic stamps impatiently along ditched street..

Where...broken fence literature is sprayed on machined older arm..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Drunken Memory

Drunken Memory

 

Here -

Where...small feet carry heavy living..

Where...polluted idle engine blows rust water into tipped gutter..

Where...emergency words remain anonymous..

Where...stone roof collapse haunts drunken memory..

Where...rock pocket begging is sandwiched between road crossing and loose fingers..

is the place language comes to die.

No Paths (2026) - Crow Time Feeding...Daytime Sleeping...Deaf Ear

Crow Time Feeding

Here -

Where...recycled daytime hiding is scripted into knifed tree bark..

Where...reckless noise making is brutal and metal knuckled..

Where...vape bloodied cafe gardens groan beneath rusted leather footstep and betrayed seating..

Where...crow time feeding is weed killer gravelled..

Where...small group silence rejects courtyard posters and charity reclaimed allotment..

is the place language comes to die.

Daytime Sleeping

Here -

Where...shielded discount aisles are glued together with spiced smile and free news..

Where...stickered metal bollards herd cheap early morning trainer shoe..

Where...daytime sleeping is bagged with tourist litter..

Where...each stuttering step is guided by habit..

Where...whiskered waterway trees hang on singing electric wire..

is the place language comes to die.

Deaf Ear

Here -

Where...loyalty is sought and funded through dark glass..

Where...anger is buttery.. 

Where...doorstep begging is hasty and youthful..

Where...brave words are thrown away with cheap lager and soapy gritted water..

Where...curled up broken yard hideaways become legend..

is the place language comes to die.