Paddington to Praed
Posted by admin on Dec 13th, 2016 in Poetry
A month after the accident, on Praed Street, You and I took my paperbacks and your felt tip pens And we fled to the forests of America. A rented house in Oregon. Weeks tallied to months, and it became our home. We spent the first summer camping and meeting animals. London pavements, iron and cold, faded faster than I thought they would. …
The Undead Swim Like Fish
Posted by admin on May 16th, 2014 in Short Stories
When you are grieving, the sounds of the Earth are doubled as the voices of your fellow man seem somehow halved. And smells paw for memories to bring context to their moment, but the brain has no willing to match the two. You feel the cold more, but not the heat. These things happen when loved ones are snatched from …