Olivia Burgess

      Sainsburys, Chertsey. 3:30. Friday Our heads close, we walk the length of a hundred recounted steps, our time ghosts frequenting a town we have come to pace and slumber, maybe dance in. I watch the back of your head and the way the wind cradles...

Patrick Slevin

      Carboot Every scratch from every needle is hidden inside these sleeves – the scars off inadvertent drops from when a certain personal hit was needed – carried around in square bags worn as badges accumulated on Saturdays browsing Eastern Bloc,...

Tom Kelly

      The day job gave me a recurring dream on a frozen lake circles of ice were cut using giant hacksaw blades. Telling them I couldn’t swim as they smeared oil onto my shaking body was ignored. See them struggling placing me under the water chanting...

Jon Miller

      Boy and Stick In the old black-and-white photo he’s still up that tree in the park, a shape among branches, a kind of negative space, detectable only by mathematics and his pull on other objects. In shorts. Moustache of milk. Scabbed knees. Coins...

Peter Viggers

      A State of Being  Under blue shadows of a red cliff I dream the sky will collapse. * The moon is an eye that does not suffer the sun is an eye that does not blink though it burns in the haven of my skull. * There are signs I have ignored knowing...

 Hélène Demetriades

      The Elixir It began with nectar weeping from your tear ducts. Your mother shone like a martyr. It dripped from your nostrils – the ambrose became mixed with the stink of the house. It oozed from your ears, hardened. Your father called you...