Blue in the Face

Archive

  • A Long Exhale with a Butterfly at the End

    A Long Exhale with a Butterfly at the End

    An infant fern coiled, yet to unfurl and start shifting light from the air wavers as a foot pounds past and halts. Tenuous legs hold out against a heavy heave. In it: angst and grinding teeth unclenched, quaking wings of butterflies and worms wondering what’s that racket? A dam has broken, a mouth agape. And Read more

  • What is it you think we’re doing here, exactly?

    What is it you think we’re doing here, exactly?

    Your family gets together for a holiday and won’t stop bickering.You ask: What is it we’re doing here exactly? A director screams that the new born babies will keep working until he’s got his shot.I should’ve asked: What is it you think we’re doing here exactly? I just shouted back. We are scared to fight Read more

  • Our Eyes Look Back At Us.

    Our Eyes Look Back At Us.

    Sitting, strung taught, on a wooden stool, a linen dress with a shawl, a woman with straight open eyes is looking at you. Wiry grey hair with flecks of black, and mouth pursed to speak some thing you must listen to. “You are here to accompany me.” “In what?” “This. This scene. This reflection in Read more

  • Intrusion

    Intrusion

    We are frozen, clutching ourself in the adjacent room, whilst our childhood and parental voice tear strips off each other. A flash of violence, unprovoked, imposed on us, all that time ago. Shame thrust at you that time you betrayed yourself. Leathargia so un-abating and silent you forget what it is to feel vivid. And Read more

  • Self Portrait in an MRI.

    Self Portrait in an MRI.

    This is written to be read: impatiently, doggedly, altogether, in parts, out loud and in your head. A Nest: cords of straw matted into a bowl, crooked into a chalk cliff. Frayed white sinews on the sea, a rush of salt in the air. Eggs, unhatched, with mud, freckles and a bird on top. A Read more

  • Over-bored.

    Over-bored.

    Smiles start eyes adjusting, We’re leaning over, kilter well off, mast nails on sea walls. Flares thrust asunder, whiskers light shifting in shoulder, hand raised to sky. Black glass hides eyes, overbored. Grist chest heaving inching brow beaten and cowed. Ether buzz of birds far off, little hairs erupt in applause. I am beside and Read more