Prof Peter Hill on Aloe Vera
Give me your hand, peach Peaches Peaches and Cream. Peaches and Cream and god awful Merlot. Spoon me, pour me, back into the melamine bowls and plastic beakers of our (im)perfect evenings. Advertisements
When the whistle blows on the overground I want to be sat, leaned back When the engine goes, when the engine goes. Rolling forward, ever forward- These steel wheels will never be my ocean, their mechanical motion, when the engine goes, leaned … Continue reading
How do you make yourself Sound like my summer? Speak hot air. Spill cooling kisses. You packed bags in autumn of its dying leaves- Countless times. We snapped, with their spines Shouted- through snow, Melted- from pedestals. … Continue reading
A blue sickly feeling- deep like a dream. Your voice- deep and dulcet, speaking old words. I’m waiting for words I never heard. My blue, beloved Boomerang.
Build me a bridge to your door. Of paper-mached ticket stubs Of shoeboxes, that hold a year Tell it to bring me here- Again. Paint its deck of déjà-vu with thick, wet, lurid yellow lines for my forgetful … Continue reading