lazarus-wist

the story carried on until it stopped, capped off the moment it had built in retrospect, might not have wrapped up quite like that, been lived in past the punchline as this telling is. three cheers for

Whether they be zombies, vampires, poltergeists, or demons, the popular monsters in the horror genre all have one thing in common. They are nothing like us. An other, beyond all reason or feeling, which

a drift of motes, adrift on   the distinction that a gnat or pollen has   between them, or the molecules they say exist   i've never seen myself   but are, on good authority,   as real as

Of all the books that I have collected over the years, this one is without a doubt my absolute favourite. I've mentioned before that my place of work is a bookshop, a second hand one, and it's not uncommon

The great-grands tip their hats while passing one another at the door, collect their stamps, refrain from getting too attached or trying to converse the distance; edges of debate the new tongue mimics

At the start of this week I sat down to write a poem about pencils. Not the most inspiring of subjects perhaps, but as they say, inspiration can be found anywhere just so long as you care to look. Why

@lazarus-wistOriginal Words and Image.

and you’re back in the room, a clock tick, air sorts through the sound it carries on inside the ears, you tried but couldn’t quite forget you had them always on. what hope of self hypnosis can exist when

Lights go up to show NICK, on all fours, with a hammer in one hand. He has an ear pressed to the floor and appears to be listening intently. He lifts his head and gently taps the hammer on the floor before

submerged suspicion, such subconscious thing or else it stalks behind me, literal the mountains blue, aquatic in the dimness evening brings and fishes, birds, float either way amongst the peaks, change

Smoking, leaning, shook out from the gambling shop this shrinkage patting down his pockets, positive the three o'clock at Epsom is as good as El Dorado or his dreams of horses. One day when the revolution's

About this Poem:   This unassuming memorial marks the spot (or near enough) where the English King John signed the Magna Carta, on June 15th, 1215. The document was presented to him by an assortment of

Wring a ling         ding ding a single octave jingle tracks         the swathe of camera one attacking centre stage in aid         of echoless clapping and the captain our captain   peeps out his mouse

In the field of psychiatry, R.D. Laing is considered something of a big deal. Starting work in 1953 at the Gartnavel Royal Mental Hospital in his native Glasgow, he immediately acquired the title ‘youngest

Messages cannot be coded into gas, the pen-tip dissipates it wordlessly like cursive ink splotch. Even in a room of densest Radon carving sparklers through the air, intentions taper off and smudge without

once I was no bigger than a penny forged resentful but I’ve come to be appreciative, of just how easily I might have been another down the well a thing to wish on. when I turned eighteen I got a cork with

@lazarus-wist"I would like, with a sense of helpful order, with respect for laws of nature to help my land with a burn, a hot clean burn" Gary SnyderOriginal Words and Image.

paralysis is such a strong word to begin with it could be itself allowing me to turn elsewhere - elucidate some other indiscretion birds have told me chorusing on wind that shakes the trees - but there

the search for places I can step away from leads me, wandering dichotomous with longing for a lack of it that comes on strong atop a cliff edge, sea below, the nestled pull toward a fact about my sternum.

I took advantage of being at the seaside to lay in a store of sucking-stones. They were pebbles but I call them stones. Yes, on this occasion I laid in a considerable store. I distributed them equally