Roberts and his fiery, bittersweet goalposts.
All my friends are beautiful ice cubes of red and blue. They will melt together
and become purple water, stored inside a small house cactus.
It will move from Maine to sunny California in a removal van and take pride of
place in a windowsill, looking out onto suburban Britain.
Alligators praise cars into driveways and valets amaze with generous pace and
displays of grace.
A ghostlike teenager gazes into his reflection in the window of a cross-country
coach and wonders what it would be like to play slide guitar with a theremin,
banging his feet on a hollow wooden stage and shaking the coins in his pocket.
Neckache as a small woman presses a glass against the wall whilst using a
telescope to view the neighbours opposite. She has short black hair in the
style of a boy and is a serial curtain-twitcher.
This little fly squashed a rolled up newspaper and flushed it down the toilet,
it was only carrying news of the imminent destruction of the memorial
roundabout in the village commemorating a war hero born locally. He shot a man
through fear and took the rewards with silent remorse.
Hunched over writer, trying to make words meet. Doing his best to amble through
life with no beliefs except that if he writes continually and repetitiously he
will one day write something that means something to someone, whether
intentionally or by accident and then he might be able to die having comforted
someone in the way that other writers comforted him. The search for the perfect
Red hats can be worn by men who have names that do not begin with R.
Couldn't you not have used that word? It makes my skin crawl and my nails
tighten. It isn't considered offensive but it is more damaging than any
profanity, swagger along, Oh Empress!
mother stop this city is turning out to be like the last one stop I might move
on stop what if the next one is the same? stop cannot keep moving forever stop
can you wire more money stop this country is strangling me stop
Big Cat Smile. Made Me Smile. Helped Sun Shine. Traffic Lights Go.
Yes, this is space, it smells like cherries.
It took approximately 21 years to build this castle
from twelfth grade, from kindergarten
Mountain snow and engineering colleges
Russian monuments and by-elections
Music halls with deadly puzzle rooms
Parliament games with Poet Peter
Final exams and census cinemas
UN genus and Sir Communist Question
Hockey-playing Texans and frail surgeons
Multi-award winning Spanish professors
Dangerous resistance lawyers
Transmission Hands of Postal Operations
Good Polish Cooks, rural by numbers
Italian Historians chronicling Czech bobsledders
Mexican filmmakers with cultural impact
General legends, Saints, Golden Wingers
Science Fiction writers of holographic rock 'n' roll
Romanian High School students
The Starting Block of Security school players
Free-tailed politicians with provisional designations
Disturbed ground in these panic village dreams
All been here. All been seen.
Looked around these grounds