Julian Dobson

      The small press publisher You too I guess have studied the surviving starlings as they swoop and whistle by the snack trailer at Moorfoot glinting for crumbs of flaky pastry like a glimpsed field of dandelions and everything turns holy – you...

Mark Czanik

      Scavengers I loved the tales Luke told me of starving writers, and the sacrifices they made following their hearts. Philip K Dick eating dog food. Bukowski’s candy bars. A forgotten Fitzgerald writing How are you? postcards to himself in the...

Mark Czanik

      Scavengers I loved the tales Luke told me of starving writers, and the sacrifices they made following their hearts. Philip K Dick eating dog food. Bukowski’s candy bars. A forgotten Fitzgerald’s writing How are you? postcards to himself in the...

Stephen Chappell

      At the Barbers She has a way of tilting your head as if lining up a thought. Neither rough nor tender—decisive, like someone used to responsibility. She remembers names, gently enquires after sick wives, errant sons, daughters who never phone,...

Tristan Moss

      Faith … without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.   John Keats I try not to think about my daughter’s condition when I hug her as all I have to do is think about how I walk down the stairs to lose my feet.     Tristan Moss...