Tag Archives: DS Maolalai

The only direction which matters

outside it’s four o’clock and one direction matters. this is you; you down on your fours and biting the side of the mattress, and me bearing down behind you, my hands on your sides like a baker with bread and … Continue reading

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Winter, optimistic.

beauty comes at christmas, but not from the balls in the windows or all those trees dragged dying to the street. people just wear scarves, that’s all, and coloured hats, and their breath kicks the air like tiny diamonds, picking … Continue reading

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There was no horizon.

the sea, black as wine at night, and the sky as dark as that but different, somehow. night-time; and you could never convince yourself that there was no horizon now. not like you can so easily on a day in … Continue reading

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Cooking

and you look up and pull at the moonlight. it resists a little, like a plum from a tree branch, then – snap – and you have it, spongy as a plum in your hand. you grab a bit of … Continue reading

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Fog on islands

I shower and swamp the room with steam; come out clean and blind as a newborn puppy. can’t even find the towel and there’s a puddle on the floor where I pissed and missed the toilet, and the tiles are … Continue reading

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The cemetery

bent on my shelf like vandalised gravestones; my library is taking some weather to stand. well, I say shelf; it’s a small apartment so mostly they sit on the windowsill though there are some shelves bolted to the wall. there … Continue reading

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So sweet will be like milk

so caterpillars crawl like mountaineers and wasps dig red flesh from rotten wood and your lips abroad will brush with other lips like teacups and your hands reach other hands at night. and your teeth will laugh and your eyes … Continue reading

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Erosion

people gain detail like tombstones in reverse. my fingers a matchbook story of scars and knobbles; broken wineglasses and slammed shut doors. my forehead over one eye like a pirate. my knees and down along my ribcage. permanent. time chipping … Continue reading

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The condemned cell

the spade cuts grass with the force of a blunt knife rubbing in an overdone steak. the dog is with me in the garden. sickly and slow, he limps the lawn and sniffs fresh earth as it turns out, square … Continue reading

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Nostalgia

i go into spirals and tailspins and fireworks whenever someone even tries to say your name. i remember wanting to lie on top of you so quietly that no-one would notice as I fell into the space you took. i … Continue reading

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The celebration

as it was, only my neighbours knew. but people might have left fruit outside the door of our room during the day, winebottles in straw holders, seashells strung on threads. they might have whispered to one another how important it … Continue reading

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Old Man in the Produce

Hard light of the supermarket I see him dazewalking heavy through the twenty-degree produce – passing plums looking so snug together cuddled up in their boxes next to the avocadoes while he is alone making a choice of potatoes or … Continue reading

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