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Tag Archives: Patrick Wright
These empty blister packs left around the flat are prerequisites. This is the price of love, or what this is. And the side effects – the longer sleep, the occasional bleed… – are signs things are working. We are working: I can’t remember … Continue reading
Having got past the loft with its lunging beast, rummaged through the piano, my avatar consigned afternoons to Derceto Manor. A dark mirror of school: dragged by a zombie to the tune of Chopin’s L’adieu. With each resurrection I was … Continue reading
Did I grow up in a circus? Clearly a clown, coin-fed; acrobats, sequins, a roller rink… Clearly knife-throwers – gangs aiming for my father’s head. He wore a disguise, an identikit. Bulldozers grazing Odeon chairs, ephemera of the flicks. Recces … Continue reading
From scratch, a house built from the ruins up follows no architectural plan, save for what’s dreamt over several times. No-one I say in their right mind would climb that staircase, unsure steps, less than a match for what’s safe, … Continue reading
No one takes a photo at a funeral. Forgetting is all that’s real. Whereas, for you, each pic’s a reminder that part of you is dead. You pose as if sight lives, like you’ve painted, each time, false eyes over … Continue reading
We didn’t look at the sky once as jets drowned out our lips on the precinct. We talked of upcycling bookshelves out of larchlap fruit crates; how to haiku the sun through toy windmills. Of all days we had to … Continue reading