by Helen Ivory | Jun 14, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Kitchen oh my love in a saucepan of soup we tryst again sell me the basis of frost, say ‘you and your fonts can freak out on pot’ i expect you may be right. violence begins in the home oh dear with a neutered animal raised on genetics my baby there...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 13, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Overnight An exquisite architect steals through the window tiptoes across our borders and creates a beaded shanty home hung with dew. But you shudder at such perfect cunning, slam the casement on my rapture and just like that blow it away. ...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 12, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Whip Hand Believing in the possibility of showtime on the move, that the sound of circus music blaring from the speakers on the roof means more than silver in my pocket, pegs to hammer home, I stake out another pitch and flatten grass: for...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 11, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Winter at Daniel’s Hole We camped there in summer evening heat; tents pitched on tinder-dry grass, while we cooked meat and grain, tore bread to wipe our wooden bowls, to fill our bellies for sleep. But winter is all box-shine, glow-forth and ice-glint, and ice...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 10, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Rose was an old lady who used so much rouge that they had to build a rouge factory near to her house to keep her supplied. To supply the factory, they needed to have copious quantities of iron oxide, aka rust. To get enough rust, they had to bring in cars from...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 9, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Wyoming his man’s good and dead news came in a missive that he read until the sap left him the paper cut bled for hours he held the letter to his mouth, bear- hugged tight air inside his chest and held it like a fist the last kiss felt kinda strange, blood-rusty, hell...
