Fiction

Nocturne

I.

The only thing separating us is the sound barrier, which doesn’t stop feelings. Vibrations at low frequencies slow until: stillness. I am screaming on the other side, you can’t hear me yet you know I am there. Feeling is …

Poetry

Into Memory

makes way to damp toes
and over eager bikers.
in spandex,
they fly past the speed limit
30km/hr and no winter service,
getting stuck in the slaw.           (do they make snow tires for bikes?)

A biker speeds past us
I …

Poetry

At the National

if we had yarn attached to us
we would make the most intricate
weave work, as we move in and out
of each other
in an art gallery.
red wool pinpointing
what we saw
and what we paid the most …